


Keeper of the Stars

by PanBoleyn



Series: At The Touch of Your Hand [7]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Mild Crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 01:54:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5766898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanBoleyn/pseuds/PanBoleyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before you meet your soulmate, you dream their memories in too-vivid flashes. Once you meet them, the dreams stop. But what happens when you know how badly a soul bond can end, when your dreams stop but you have no idea who you've bonded to? Do you try and find them, or do you wait it out, and what happens when there's no time left to decide either way?</p><p>Technically part of a multifandom soulmate AU, but as the other fics take place over 200 years earlier, no need to read them to understand this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic kind of came up out of nowhere - kind of like this fandom; I watched both new Trek films about a year ago from idle curiosity, and no burning need to read or write fic appeared. Then I saw STID again the weekend over Christmas, and WHAM. (So no, I am not familiar with any other Trek canon - I have read the reboot novelizations though - at this stage, and unsure how to rectify this fact as I lack Netflix.) Spock will appear properly in the first full chapter, though he is a presence here, if an unknown one.
> 
> Officially, this fic is part of my larger, multifandom soulmate AU, because I already had the logistics of that bonding system settled and it made more sense to use something I've already [fully plotted out](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1RRVzscbKcuDEmxXE6oe2hPml4E9okdH0fx0sKqUXiqg/edit?usp=sharing) than start brand new. Those other fics can be considered historical content to this, to an extent, though the only way the other fandoms really affect this fic is that X-Men mutants exist and now live on a renamed Mars, which I discuss briefly here in the prologue.

Sometimes, he dreams of a desert night, where there are only stars and no moon.

 

 

Oh, Jim has other dreams too, the normal dreams and these dreams, the ones that are always too sharp, ones that everyone knows.

 

 

People didn't used to dream along their unformed soulmate bonds, it's said, not when Earth was alone in the universe and your chances of finding someone were a lot better. Back then, people started thinking maybe you had a pool of soulmates, and the first one you met was the one you linked to. Now, the dreams are clues, vague as they are, and they vanish when you bond. If one of you dies, the dreams fade slowly, losing their colors first before they disappear.

 

 

Sometimes you still share dreams after bonding, but that's different, the two or three of you experiencing the same dream at the same time. Dreams stop when bonds are formed and this is true even in cases where people don't realize the bond's happened. Jim read about it a lot when he was a kid, because he was always trying to understand the forever distant look in his mother's eyes, the reason she loved space more than she loved him or Sam.

 

 

The reason is because she lost her soulmate to the stars, and while she didn't go crazy or die from the shock of it the way some people do, she's always been a little broken, for all of Jim's life.

 

 

But anyway. He has all these old files on his reader, stuff long since in public domain, all about bashertology, the study of soulmates. Downloaded them as a kid, never bothered to get rid of them, and sometimes when he's bored he flips through them again. These days it's harder, humans having to take into account other species, who sometimes match up to humans and sometimes don't. Not every sentient race has soulmates, some have them differently than humans – Jim doesn't remember all the names now, but he knows there's a race that can't see the color spectrum unless they're bonded, another where bonded people have the same birthmarks, so on and so forth. Part-human hybrids have it even weirder if their alien parent belongs to a race with a bonding system, because they tend to have to deal with _both_ bonding signals. Hybrids from races that don't bond at least only have the human kind to deal with.

 

 

And Jim? He dreams of desert nights with no moon, of gentle hands that make him jealous because his mother is nothing like that even when she's home, of cool, clinical white rooms, a giant cat-like thing...

 

 

His first month on Tarsus IV, before things went to hell, his uncle took him to see the colony's bashertologist. She was a Genoshan, Jim could tell by the tri-color eyes. Dr. Kincaid's irises had been two rings of dark and light grey, with an inner ring around her pupil that looked like copper. No one knows why the Genoshans have eyes like that – it's not their X-gene, it's probably a weird side effect of the terraforming they used to make Mars habitable – but everyone knows what it means. The Genoshans are stubbornly neutral and refuse to join the Federation a few times a decade, but because bonds that go wrong wreak so much havoc on mutant abilities and their entire society is made up of mutants, they produce a huge number of bashertologists who then spread out across known planets.

 

 

Dr. Kincaid had monitored his dreams for a while, done some tests, and concluded that Jim's future bondmate, whoever he or she is, is probably one of those part-human hybrids. There's no human colony planet that quite fits the description of his desert dreams, she says, and if his future was to bond with a full alien, the dreams wouldn't be happening – though it was possible the person on the other end of the dreamlink was the child of a human ambassador, too. He thought she knew what the cat-thing was but she said she didn't. He hadn't really wanted to argue. Truth was, Jim didn't want a soulmate. How could he, after he grew up knowing what _losing_ one can do to a person? _My mother could barely look at me or my brother_ , he wanted to scream when Dr. Kincaid went on about how it will be trickier for him with a bondmate who isn't entirely human, but she was sure they could work it out. _Why would I ever want to end up as bad as she is?_

 

 

He didn't say anything, though. He was twelve years old and the spark of defiance that, six months before, led him to drive his dad's car off a quarry the very day his brother took off to parts unknown, was all but burned out. His mom didn't even hear him out, just agreed with Frank and shipped him off to his uncle and aunt here on Tarsus. He was tired and bitter and – he didn't want a soulmate, but part of him did wonder what it might be like to have someone actually wanting him to stick around.

 

 

He still does.

 

 

Tarsus was years ago now, and Jim's a grown man, more or less. A lot of people would probably say he's not so grown up, not when all he does is wander around on a hoverbike, up to Chicago and down to New Orleans. He spent last year on the East Coast, because why the hell not – would have done the West Coast too, except...

 

 

Except that in recent years, he's pretty sure the dreams flickering with Starfleet uniforms and the occasional sight of the Golden Gate Bridge and what must be San Francisco Bay aren't coming from _his_ mind. He'll never admit that it was that very conclusion that drove him all the way to the opposite coast, not even to himself, but it was. Because as much as part of him wants to know what it's like to be wanted for real, he won't risk turning into his mother. Or turning someone _else_ into his mother, come to think of it.

 

 

And that's assuming whoever it is even _does_ want him. They don't, always, and while there's plenty of meds for people dealing with toxic bonds, Jim doesn't care to try his luck. He's probably allergic to the damn things anyway. No, he'll just keep moving, picking up odd jobs in garages and bars and construction sites, picking up one-night stands. He read up on how to shield, because apparently otherwise your future bonded can pick up on when you have sex, which is just creepy. Jim figures whoever's at the other end of the dreamlink either shields too or isn't sexually active, and if it's the latter, them feeling what Jim gets up to would be even creepier. Too close to forcing it on someone, and while Jim's certainly the type to be a little pushy when someone gets annoyed – it's almost as fun to piss people off as it is to sleep with them – if someone really doesn't like the idea he backs off fast.

 

 

But the night he gets into a barfight in his hometown, the night Christopher Pike throws down a gauntlet with the words “I dare you to do better,” after Jim sees the _Enterprise_ for the first time in his life, he takes his bike back to the old quarry. He parks at the edge, folding his arms on top of the handlebars and thinking back to the day he'd driven the Corvette off it.

 

 

He barely remembers even deciding to do it. He'd just been a sudden ball of rage and wildness, not sure if he wanted to make Sam stop or get out faster than he possibly could. The keys were in the car, and the next thing he'd known, he was flying down the highway, heavy metal blaring around him. He remembers the quarry coming up.

 

 

What Jim doesn't remember is actually bothering to care if he jumped or if he went over the edge with the car. He doesn't remember wanting to die, he knows he wasn't trying to die. He also knows nothing had mattered except the speed, the sudden terrifyingly wonderful freedom. What he remembers is that, wide awake for once, that night sky with no moon and constellations he's never seen flashed before his eyes. He remembers the rush of humid summer air washing away, replaced by the dry chill winds of a desert night, and the phantom feeling of a cool hand wrapping around his wrist.

 

 

Jim remembers knowing he had to _stay_ , without knowing _why_ , and next thing he knew was dirt on his hands and knees, tasting bitter in his mouth.

 

 

He thinks about dreaming San Francisco in flashes too sharp to focus properly, thinks of Starfleet uniforms glimpsed the same way. It's why he went east instead of west. _I dare you to do better._ He thinks of going out into the black, of maybe finally understanding his mother for the first time. And he wonders about the person at the other end of the line, someone who must dream of long empty highways at midnight, engine oil and the silly showoff tricks Jim uses when he's bartending. Who maybe used to dream of books read under an old bush or high in a trees, the fields surrounding this middle of nowhere town.

 

 

Who maybe dreamed and still does dream of a night sky with a moon, and constellations Jim knows but maybe they don't.

 

 

At the Academy, Jim dreams _of_ the Academy, and flashes of life on a starship, and still and always the desert – sometimes during the day now, though. But he's busy with the accelerated track and keeping up the rep he has of being a careless tipsy flirt (it means they underestimate him and it's pathetic no one realizes that if he spent as much time fucking and drinking as he lets people think, he'd have flunked out twice over by now, right?) and he didn't do this to find whoever it is, so he doesn't dwell on it. If they're interested, maybe they'll find him.

 

 

He doesn't think about it often, does his best to think about it as little as possible, in fact. Given this, and given just how insane things got when facing down Nero and in the months following, Jim figures he can be forgiven for the fact that it took three months before he noticed something. The dreams have stopped.

 


	2. Unfolding Like a Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Spock are both missing a certain kind of dream, and they both handle it differently, even as they come to a better accord with one another. But there are ghosts lingering in Jim's head...

_He's running through the trees, trying to balance keeping quiet with moving as fast as possible, the stolen rations wrapped in a bundle under one arm. Behind him he can hear the guards shouting at each other, none of them knowing how they missed -_

 

 

Jim wakes with a choked gasp, heart racing like he's still fourteen and running through those woods. It takes him a minute to realize that, no, he isn't back on Tarsus, he's... Sitting on a cold, damp floor. It takes him another minute to remember why. The ruling council of Imberline had decided to take offense to the presence of the _Enterprise's_ away team, and had dragged away him and –

 

 

Jim peers through the dimness to find dark eyes fixed on him. Oh, great. Of all the people to have a Tarsus dream in front of, he just had to pick Spock. Well, he didn't actually pick him, they happened to be the ones who got captured, but semantics. “Let me guess. Vulcans don't dream, right?” he says, voice rough with sleep and lack of water.

 

 

Spock blinks once, then says, “Full-blooded Vulcans do not dream, that is correct.”

 

 

Full-blooded Vulcans? Which Spock isn't, which means... “What about you, then?” Jim figures if Spock's seen him gasping in the aftermath of a nightmare, then he can at least ask if Spock ever _has_ anything that might be a nightmare. From the way Spock goes even more still, though, he doesn't agree, apparently –

 

 

“Irregularly.”

 

 

“Huh?”

 

 

“I experience REM sleep on an irregular basis.”

 

 

Oh. Huh. Are they actually sharing now? Weird. But Jim will take it. “Lucky you,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Trust me on that one. Although not every dream is bad.” His – the normal ones anyway – have a really annoying tendency to turn bad, though, even if they start out fun. Not always bad enough to force him awake, or Bones probably would've killed him when they shared a dorm, but usually at least mildly shitty. There is a reason Jim tends to stay up late and drink more coffee than is necessarily wise. The bond dreams had been different, but Jim tries not to think too much about them now that they're gone; he has some vague theories about the circumstances now, and it's more trouble than he really wants to face while he's still finding his footing as a captain. Especially since if he's on the right track, it will complicate that immensely.

 

 

“I understand that going too long without REM sleep is not conducive to human health, and have concluded that my own part-human biology must also occasionally require it. I do not see how this would be considered 'luck',” Spock says, unknowingly interrupting Jim's train of thought, for which Jim is grateful. Not the time.

 

 

“You know, I can't decide if you really don't get that many human turns of phrase or if you're secretly messing with all of us,” Jim says, almost teasing. He's been wondering that since Spock showed up on the Enterprise's bridge two months ago, informing Jim that he could provide character references for his application to be first officer if need be. Anyone else saying something like that would be immediately labeled a fellow smart-ass in Jim's eyes, but with Spock he can't quite tell.

 

 

“An interesting observation, Captain.”

 

 

“Right, I'm chock-full of those. Anyway, Mr. Spock, fewer dreams means fewer bad ones. Pretty good trade-off if you ask me. And don't think I didn't notice you not answering the question.”

 

 

“You did not, in point of fact, ask one.”

 

 

Jim rolls his eyes. “It was implied, Spock,” he says without any real heat. “Would one of those character references you said you had be able to give me the answer? Maybe I should get their names after all once we get out of this one.”

 

 

“I do not think they would be of help to you, as none of them have ever suggested I might possess a sense of humor,” Spock says, but there's a hint of something on his face – almost an actual expression, and Jim's fairly sure it's a sign Spock is inwardly laughing at him. Well, at least he knows the Vulcan can laugh, sort of?

 

 

“Damn,” Jim says, shaking his head. “I'll just have to figure it out myself. Or get your girlfriend to hate me less so she – crap. Sorry. That's completely inappropriate.” He's still working on the things he can't get away with saying anymore. It's all right if a captain is friends with some of his crew – it's kind of unavoidable, given the scrapes people get in, that the chain of command doesn't prevent that sort of thing, but there's things you can say to friends and acquaintances in a civilian life that you just can't in the context of a starship. It's a learning curve, especially for someone as flippant as Jim.

 

 

Spock considers him silently for a long moment. “It would indeed be inappropriate if it were still a relevant term. But while I continue to consider Lieutenant Uhura a friend, she and I are not engaged in a romantic relationship.”

 

 

Huh. Well, that's – Jim can't help but remember the kiss he'd witnessed, but he's aware that relationships need more than sheer physical attraction to get somewhere. One reason he tends to avoid them, actually. “Well, still, I'm sorry for crossing a line – and that you guys broke up, that always sucks.”

 

 

“It was logical for both of us. I had initially planned to travel to the Vulcan colony.”

 

 

Which Jim kinda knew already, or at least had guessed. Inexplicably, he thinks of a desert night somewhere he's never seen, but it's just a memory, not the waking dream from when he was eleven years old. “Fair enough,” he says, although for some reason he feels like there's something else to it. Whatever it is isn't his business, anyway. He shifts a little, foot nudging Spock's, which makes them both jerk a little in surprise – Jim hadn't realized they were that close, and Spock probably isn't used to even accidental touches with the wide berth people tend to give him. “Sorry,” Jim says again, moving his foot away. “Not good at keeping still.” He has a sudden, disorienting sense of _deja vu_ , as if they've been here before, awkwardly placed in some jail cell – he thinks he smells the dampness of a cave, which this place certainly isn't – but it fades as quickly as it came.

 

 

“I have noticed this habit of yours, although there is nothing to apologize for.” Spock tells him. “Except perhaps the possibility that you may wear a groove in the floor of your quarters, but it would not be me to whom you would need to speak if you do so.”

 

 

And, ok, so Jim tends to pace when he's going through requests and paperwork on his PADD as opposed to sitting at his desk like a normal person, but he doesn't think he's that bad. “What, can you hear me through the bathroom or something?”

 

 

“On occasion. Enough to conclude that it is a regular habit. Your work would likely improve considerably if you did it while seated.”

 

 

“What, no exact percentages?”

 

 

“I would need an opportunity to compare your work output in order to compile the necessary data.”

 

 

“... Of course you would. Well, trust me, Spock, it wouldn't help. I get antsy, and then I can't focus unless I'm burning off some of that energy at the same time.” It's always been true, but it got a lot worse almost right after they'd gotten back to Earth after Nero – it had been a lot worse until roughly two months back, and then it had eased somewhat. Still worse than he used to be, but Jim figures it's the fact that he can't just stop and go for a run along the Bay anymore. Even though when it first kicked up bad even running for hours hadn't helped, but it doesn't matter. It's just adjusting to the comparatively closed-in life on a starship.

 

 

He might have said something else, or maybe Spock would have, but there's the telltale tingle over Jim's skin and then they're being beamed back to the _Enterprise_. And if the edgy feeling flares up again when they finish the debrief and go their separate ways, it's just some kind of coincidence.

 

 

<><><>

 

 

His mother had been the only one to mention dreams, before the captain. It is ridiculous for Spock to allow himself to feel strange about this; Kirk had no way to know, had obviously harbored no ill intent. He had been uncomfortable that Spock had seen his distress, mild as it had been, following his dream. That much Spock knows, though he remains unsure as to why Kirk wished to know his own dreaming capability. A sense of balancing the scales?

 

 

It is not logical, but then, neither is Jim Kirk. Spock is almost accustomed to it after two months in Kirk's regular company. Kirk is not to blame for reminding Spock of his mother or of a specific topic between them he prefers not to think on, but now Spock cannot suppress the thoughts. His mother didn't talk about her dreams or ask about Spock's after sitting him down to explain dreaming when he was 3.4 years old, except for one kind of dream. Those too-vivid, almost entirely nonsensical flashes that were his bond dreams.

 

 

They have always been strange things, and sometimes disturbing. A man yelling, a woman with long, tied-back blonde hair walking out of a door, and in Spock's seventeenth year, phaser fire and a gnawing hunger, someone crying. Far easier were the weight of a paper book in hand, or the feel of being on a hoverbike with long quiet roads ahead, the flickers of Starfleet Academy that Spock had stubbornly ignored. And worst of all had been the waking dream when he had been fourteen, a steering wheel in hand and a cliff edge coming up. Spock hadn't understood what it was, not then and not even now, but all he'd wanted was to stop the coming fall –

 

 

Bond dreams. Like all his dreams, like his eyes, they have always been proof that he is not fully Vulcan. Even his mother had not had them, human as she was – Amanda's bondmate had been Sarek, who, as full Vulcans do not have the arbitrary bonding systems of Terrans, Genoshans, or Betazoids among others, did not 'send' dreams. _“I grew up believing my bondmate had died before I was born, or was going to be a lot younger than me,”_ his mother had told him after that waking dream, when he'd been shaken enough to break his determination to ignore the dreams as he did all human-like instinct. _“And then of course I accidentally brushed your father's hand, and then... We wondered who you'd take after with this.”_

 

 

Spock has never looked into the situation, knows nothing more about bonds than what his mother told him. It is part of the human heritage he's worked so long to suppress, after all. But now... The bond dreams have always been his most regular sort of dreaming, appearing at least once within a two-week period. But they have ceased entirely, since Vulcan... since his mother...

 

 

It is illogical to think that either of those things connect to the end of such dreams, when he knows that they only end when one meets one's soulmate and first experiences skin-to-skin contact with them. But Spock's limited knowledge indicates that he would have been aware of such an event – not least because he so rarely touches anyone. More than that, the moment of bonding is supposed to be an overwhelming rush of emotion and memory as the bondmates' minds connect. His father confirmed this was even true for him when Amanda's bonding triggered in him a spontaneous betrothal link to her, his telepathic skill only allowing him to regain control more quickly. Both of Spock's parents had expressed their belief, when the topic came up, that as he would likely react as both a human and a Vulcan, the effect would be pronounced with him.

 

 

Spock has experienced no such thing. There is only the cessation of the dreams. Except that no, that is not accurate. There was a strange anxiety that lingered until he made his final decision, with his elder self's advice, to join the crew of the _Enterprise_ rather than go to the Vulcan colony. Even when it dissipated, a curious restlessness remained, and still does. There is the sense of discomfort that prompted the end of his fledgling relationship with Nyota. He did not lie when he said they ended when he had planned to go to the colony; this is true. It is also true that when he changed his mind, he did not seek Nyota out for more than friendship. He had tried to explain, even without understanding it himself, but she'd seemed to comprehend more than he did. He might have insisted she explain, but it had not seemed the time.

 

 

He is beginning to think he may know, however. Nyota is, after all, human, and two of her sisters have found their bondmates, although one of them keeps that relationship platonic and has embarked on a romance with someone else. Perhaps she picked up on something that Spock, unwilling to know more than what was strictly necessary of bonding, did not realize sooner.

 

 

Logic dictates that he consult an expert, but there are no bashertologists aboard the _Enterprise_. Starfleet Medical has several, he knows, and no ship's CMO is incapable of running bond tests, but Spock is not absolutely certain he requires one. And he can admit to some discomfort at the thought of contacting Starfleet Medical now. It is possible he would be summoned back, and he would prefer to keep his privacy. And so, he decides to wait. The restlessness causes him little trouble, though it does make him struggle to meditate as long as he is accustomed to doing.

 

 

It and the question of what is causing all this also drives him to seek distractions in a very human manner. Which is why he is to be found easily dispatching several members of the crew in chess during his free periods over the next few weeks. Ensign Chekov is perhaps the closest he has found to a challenge, although this only says so much. Nyota only laughs when he suggests a match. “Spock, if I want to get my ass handed to me, I'll just ask Sulu to teach me fencing, at least it'll be a new loss experience. I never used to last thirty minutes against you, remember?”

 

 

Sulu, meanwhile, categorically refuses. “Pavel's been playing chess since he was three, and you trounced him. Hell no, with all due respect, Commander.”

 

 

“I did not, as you say, 'trounce' Ensign Chekov, Lieutenant Sulu. He has, in fact, been the most engaging opponent I have found on the ship.”

 

 

“And I really wouldn't be engaging at all, I'm horrible at chess. I always mix up the way the rook and the bishop move. Now, you wanna play poker, I'm excellent. And I'm going to be even better if the captain keeps his end of our bargain.”

 

 

“I suspect I would prefer not to know this, but what exactly is your bargain?”

 

 

“I teach Kirk to fence, he teaches me to count cards?”

 

 

Somehow, Spock is not surprised. He is, however, surprised when a voice interrupts him as he begins to put away the chess set. “You know, I'm starting to feel insulted. I hear everyone on alpha and beta shift bridge crew, not to mention half your science minions and three guys from Engineering have gotten chess invites from you. I thought we were starting to get along, Mr. Spock,” Kirk says, leaning against the side of the table.

 

 

“I was under the impression that your game of choice is cheating at cards,” Spock says evenly.

 

 

“Oh, hell, Sulu told you? And come on, don't give me that look, it was a useful way to earn some cash between jobs before I enlisted. Come on, no one plays 3-D chess with me anymore. Bones tries to hypo me if I so much as have a board sitting out.”

 

 

Spock considers Kirk for a moment, and then takes the pieces back out of their box. “Very well,” he says, handing Kirk the white pieces. This small advantage predictably earns Spock a roll of those strangely bright blue eyes, and why is he noticing that? But Kirk says nothing, just sets his pieces up and makes his opening move.

 

 

Three hours later, they are both due on the bridge and in a stalemate, a small crowd lingering at nearby tables to watch – and to exchange wagers, most likely. Spock's well-orchestrated strategies have proven far less effective than usual against Kirk's quicksilver plans, changing seemingly with every moment. It's an irresistible challenge. “We can continue this when we are both off duty again, if you are willing,” he offers.

 

 

“Willing? This is the most fun I've had at this game in years.”

 

 

The plan to continue their first match turns into a standing appointment, matches that last for hours and sometimes take days to complete. They are more or less evenly matched in how many wins – Spock pulls ahead first but Jim is quick to catch up and then pass him, and Spock never lets him keep such leads for long. If he notices that he hears less pacing in the captain's quarters, if he notices that his meditation comes more easily, Spock thinks nothing of it at the time.

 

<><><>

 

 

“Seriously, are you feeling ok?” Bones says, giving Jim a narrow look over his glass. Jim rolls his eyes and signals the bartender for another shot. He has a feeling he's going to need it.

 

 

“I'm fine, Bones, why do you ask?”

 

 

“This is our first shore leave since we shipped out, and you're sitting here drinking with me instead of trying to pick someone up for the night, when I know you're not stupid enough to have flings with your crew.”

 

 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

 

 

“Jim. Everything all right? We both know you didn't screw around as much as people think, but this is still weird for you. And you were acting off even before we left San Francisco, now I think about it. Don't tell me you've fallen in love or something. That never ends well.”

 

 

Bones, Jim knows, is still very cynical about that kind of thing – courtesy of the ex-wife who took the planet in the divorce, to borrow his friend's own term. They hadn't been soulmates, Jim knows, but he's never actually asked Bones what he'd do, now, if he bonded. It's not something they discuss, although when Jim made the mistake of drinking vodka in their dorm room he'd ended up rambling about his bond dreams. Vodka makes him a sort of maudlin talky drunk, which is why it's not his drink of choice.

 

 

“Nah. Just got bored with the random one-nighters. Can't say why. It's probably just a phase. Maybe I overloaded my sex drive. Anyway, what are you complaining for? Want me to get lost, is that it?” Jim says, nudging Bones playfully. It earns him a Look, just like he knew it would.

 

 

“No, idiot. Just wanted to make sure you're not dying or something.”

 

 

“Wouldn't you be the first to know if I was, Dr. McCoy?”

 

 

“Me or the hobgoblin, with how much time you two spend together these days. Although thank God you finally found another chess junkie so you could stop driving me crazy about it.” Bones finishes his whiskey and signals for another, Jim toying with his shot glass rather than getting another refill of his own. Bones has a point; he has been spending a good bit of time with Spock. Sometimes the game gets all but forgotten and they end up just talking instead, like in the cell that time only now it's not enforced companionship. It's just... nice.

 

 

“My bond dreams stopped,” he hears himself say, and wonders a little desperately why he even brought it up. Jim's been very deliberately not thinking about it, because he knows just enough about subconscious bonding to have narrowed his options down a little. Not much, given that the _Enterprise_ crew isn't exactly a small group, but it has to be someone on the crew. If it wasn't, if it was someone still on Earth or on another ship or whatever, bond separation anxiety would have gotten both him and the person on the other end of the link by now, and they'd _know_.

 

 

Bones chokes on his whiskey. “What the fuck, Jim, you can't just say that shit out of the blue! And you don't know who it is?”

 

 

“Well, if I did, I'd have more to say than the dreams stopped. It's that subconscious thing. Must have happened... Well, I noticed it four months ago, but once I thought about it, it was probably seven months ago when they actually stopped.”

 

 

“So right in the middle of the Nero mess, give or take. Jim, why didn't you tell me?” And Jim is barely even tipsy, certainly more than clear-headed enough to detect the hurt in Bones' usual gruff tones. It makes him wince, because his reasons had nothing to do with his friend Bones, but with his CMO Dr. McCoy.

 

 

“Because if a member of a starship crew, whatever rank, comes to the CMO with a suspicion that they've subconsciously bonded to another crew member, Starfleet strongly prefers that –“

 

 

“ – That the CMO begin the process of bond screenings in order to figure out who the bonded pair or triad are,” Bones cuts him off. “They're not absolute requirements, Jim, and why the hell _wouldn't_ you want me to run the tests? It's better to know before you or whoever the other person is gets shot on an away mission or something and the other one loses the plot.”

 

 

“Yeah, and how the hell would I have a conversation like that with God knows who? Oh, by the way, we must have brushed up against each other at some point and now we're bonded. This kind of shit is only not ridiculously awkward when the bond goes active right away. I'm still trying to make this captain thing work, I know for a fact some of my crew thinks I'm probably screwing some of them because my reputation is still lingering. I can't afford this shit right now, Bones.”

 

 

“You're worried they'll shut you down.” Bones says it flatly, eyes sharp as he looks Jim over. This is the downside to having a best friend, Jim knows; after three years of living together, they both know each other far, far too well. He opens his mouth to argue, but then stops, shaking his head and signaling the bartender after all. Forget the shot, he gets a full glass of some local blue alcohol this time and drains almost half of it in one go.

 

 

“I'm kinda fucked up, Len, we both know that. You're the one who used to bitch about my insomnia, remember?” He'd bitch about it, but then he'd stay up with Jim at least some of the time anyway. Those late nights are actually why Bones will no longer even consider playing chess with Jim, and why they're both bored to death of blackjack and gin. And why they can both quote the dialogue along with the actors in way too many classic movies. “It's not exactly outside the realm of possibility, is what I'm saying. And while I don't exactly _like_ feeling restless all the time, that's a hell of a lot easier to cope with than the dizzy spells and shit rejection sickness gets you.”

 

 

“Kid...” Bones shakes his head, staring down into his drink for a moment. “You know, for all your damned arrogance, you manage to be hard on yourself in the _stupidest_ ways.”

 

 

“Says the total relationship cynic.”

 

 

“You're not me, Jim. And this isn't the same thing. You can't keep this up forever and you know it.”

 

 

Jim does know it. The record for a subconscious bond going unactivated is a little over six years, a record set back in the 21st century by some bonded pair from New York City. They had worked together very closely for those six years, which was why neither of them had noticed anything out of the ordinary until one had abruptly switched careers. They'd ended up a case study for one of the top bashertology researchers of their time, which is how Jim ended up reading about them.

 

 

He knows it. He just doesn't want to admit it. Because there's also Dr. Kincaid's little theory, the one about his bondmate being a hybrid, which would... Well. It doesn't narrow things down _completely_ , but if she was right about that little detail...

 

 

“ _I have been and always will be your friend.”_

 

 

Jim pushes the thought away, forcefully. He's not going there. He – he's just not. Not when the bond dreams being gone aren't the only weird thing about what Spock would call his experiences of REM sleep anymore. Emotional transference, the old Spock had said. Jim calls fucking bullshit on that one, because emotional transference doesn't explain the dim flickers in his sleep, of worlds never seen and things never said, familiar faces older than he's used to, a ship that is his ship and yet not.

 

 

Oh, it's nothing that tells him anything useful, just leaves him with deja vu at the oddest moments, and sometimes feeling a distant surprise when his eyes in the mirror are blue and not brown. What he's thinking is just a side effect of this weird shit. It's nothing. It's nothing, and he's not about to risk a tentative friendship that already means way too much because he –

 

 

“Jim?” Bones waves a hand in front of his face and Jim flinches away, broken from his train of thought. “Hey. Are you sure there's nothing else going on?”

 

 

“Yeah, Bones. It's just this mess. Anyway, we're headed back to Earth after the starmapping thing we've got after this leave, so I'll talk to someone, all right? One of the bashertologists at Medical. See what advice they've got.”

 

 

“You do that, Jim,” Bones says, still giving him that too-sharp look. “You don't want to find out when something bad happens to whoever's on the other side – or by having something bad happen to you, if you take this as permission to be a goddamn idiot in the field I'll kick your ass to the Neutral Zone. I saw it once or twice when I did my ER rotations. It's... not pretty, even with the ones that make it.”

 

 

Jim finishes his drink, watching the light play off the empty glass as he turns it in his hand. “I think I know better than you what happens when a bond breaks like that, Bones,” he says very quietly. “But I get your point. I'll work it out.” What exactly working it out will entail, he isn't quite sure yet.

 

 

<><><>

 

 

“Commander Spock, these symptoms are all really quite straightforward,” Dr. Tristan Frost says, and there's clear mockery in his tone. Spock merely tilts his head a little, allowing himself to imagine that the Genoshan's slight smirk would vanish very quickly if he punched his teeth in. No hint of the thought shows, of course.

 

 

“I am half-Vulcan, Doctor. As you know, full Vulcans do not experience this kind of bonding phenomenon, and therefore my education on the subject may well be incomplete. What is commonplace for you could easily be unknown to me. I am here for an explanation, not your opinion on whether or not I should require one.”

 

 

“Right...” Frost says, rolling his tri-green eyes. “OK then, Commander, what we have here is something called a subconscious bond. It appears in up to fifteen percent of the populations of Earth and Genosha each, among half-Terran or half-Genoshan hybrids we don't know, the sample size isn't large enough for decent statistics. It's a bond that doesn't actively trigger when it's formed, so the involved parties are unaware of its existence for a time. Eventually they always find out, one way or another.”

 

 

“When an individual of a bonding species bonds to a Vulcan, this event triggers the spontaneous formation of a psychic link in the Vulcan, similar to our intentionally formed betrothal bonds. Why would the bonding not trigger the same in my case, thus allowing me to know what had happened regardless?”

 

 

“Really? I had heard that was true, but no Genoshan research backs it up.”

 

 

“I have always been given to understand that your people hold Vulcans in a low esteem similar to that in which you hold Terrans,” Spock says blandly. “Perhaps that is why. But I can assure you of the accuracy of it, as it applied to my parents.” He refuses to acknowledge the ache, not now, not in front of this scornful doctor. Tristan Frost has something in his manner that reminds Spock of his former childhood tormentors, but he is one of the best at what he does, which is why he's consulting at Starfleet. That and his sister is apparently an officer in the Investigative Corps.

 

 

“Huh. I don't care about old grudges, I just like new facts to incorporate into my research,” Frost says absently. “Well, you said you're the only Vulcan-Terran hybrid out there – if there's any Vulcan-Genoshan hybrids I don't know about them – so I can only speculate. But I would guess that, given your touch-telepathy, part of the trigger for this betrothal link is the human party's _awareness_ of the bonding. That or the fact that you bond in the human way as well means that the betrothal link won't form at all. Open question, that; hybrids of two races with bonding patterns usually react in both ways, but what you describe isn't strictly a bonding pattern...”

 

 

He drums his fingers on his desk. “I apologize, Commander. Your case isn't nearly as straightforward as I thought. But the basics do still hold; you are experiencing common side effects of a subconscious bond, reacting as a Terran or a Genoshan would. Your brain scans come off the same, the missing dreams and the restlessness are typical symptoms... It's been eight months since you lost the dreams?”

 

 

“Affirmative.”

 

 

“Well, I can tell you two things for sure, in that case. First, and obviously, whoever it is, you either just met them or just touched them skin-to-skin eight months ago. More importantly, they're on the _Enterprise_ with you.”

 

 

Spock's eyes narrow slightly. “What makes you certain of this?”

 

 

“You do know that when bonded pairs or triads are separated for any length of time, they experience bond separation anxiety, correct?” At Spock's nod, Frost continues. “This is true for subconscious pairs as well, and it's _the_ most common way that subconscious pairs figure out that they're bonded. It can't activate a bond, but it makes you aware something's wrong. What you're experiencing now, the restlessness and the discomfort in continuing a different relationship, those are milder symptoms. Especially in the early days, bondmates prefer to be near each other and to have steady physical contact. Without it, the restlessness comes into play. So, it's someone on your ship, who either hasn't figured out what's happening either or didn't tell your CMO, because once someone on a ship reports a subconscious bond to the medbay, usually the doctors get to testing.”

 

 

“What does activate a subconscious bond?”

 

 

“Uh, it varies. Kissing will do it, sometimes hugging for some people. Affectionate physical contact, basically. People like to say sex, but you'll go active before progressing that far; sex is just the most common way to _secure_ a bond. If one of you is seriously injured, that'll do it; worst-case scenario is when someone dies, the other one feels the bond break. Among Genoshans, those who are psychic sometimes trigger it by using their power on their bondmate – that could probably apply to you, but I'd only be guessing at this point. I'd love it if you told me how you progressed, actually, it could be very useful if a similar case comes up.”

 

 

“I am certain you would,” Spock says neutrally. He would prefer not to give Dr. Frost any assistance at all, but the point that his experience could be useful to someone else is a thing to consider. “Thank you for your assistance, Doctor,” he adds, and then turns and walks out before Frost can say another word. He knows what he needs to know, and therefore doesn't need to remain a moment longer.

 

 

Not that what he's learned is particularly helpful, although it is good to know that there's nothing actually _wrong,_ that this is merely a type of bond he didn't know about. That his bondmate is a member of Starfleet he had concluded for himself, given the flickers of Starfleet Academy he'd seen, with the telltale vividness that meant they were not his own memories reconstituted. He would not have assumed them to be a member of the _Enterprise_ crew without Frost's information, but what can he do with that?

 

 

He is not about to go around mind melding with crewmembers at random, much less kissing them in either human _or_ Vulcan fashion – or more likely, just the others on the bridge and those who answer to him in sciences. People you see on a regular basis, the doctor had said, and those are the crewmembers Spock sees with the most regularity. With that in mind, he can eliminate Nyota, as well as Lieutenant Valdez in sciences, as he is aware that she is part of a triadic bond with two others on the _Enterprise_. They came as a set during his previous tour with now-Admiral Pike.

 

 

Beyond that, however... His best course of action, it seems, would now be to consult Dr. McCoy, who can perform the requisite scans and identify Spock's bondmate. He continues to hesitate at that plan, though, and he is unsure why. It is the logical option; both he and his bondmate will be better off if they know what is happening to them. It is far better to learn what has happened in a controlled circumstance rather than as the result of serious injury.

 

 

But something in him balks at the idea of such a conversation brought about by test results. He also would prefer not to discuss something so private with Dr. McCoy and his constant stream of insults – although Spock has come to think they are more habitual than personal. Perhaps he can instead look through the personal history of the crew's personnel files more closely? Typically, he does not concern himself overmuch with that section, preferring to focus on education and experience, but if he can compare events to the things he dreamed of...

 

 

In such a case, he may at least be able to keep the discussion private, involving only those whom it most concerns. A shallow meld ought to be enough to prove him right or wrong, once he reaches that point. He finds himself remembering the sense of hurtling toward a cliff edge and wonders if perhaps he'll finally find out just what that was all about.

 

 

<><><>

 

 

“I'm pretty sure your refusal to drink coffee just proves you are not a normal human being,” Jim says, sipping the spiced milk tea Mara always makes. Actually, he likes the stuff – he's not sure why she insists on using condensed milk, but she says the recipe is inspired by some family thing. Niamara Frost's family has a lot of weird little quirks from what she's said, which ends up a lot weirder when you realize her brother is her planet's First Minister, and he won the election against their father.

 

 

“I am not, I'm a Genoshan, and none of us are what you Terrans would call normal, Kirk,” Mara says with a laugh, fingers curled around her own mug. “So tell me, who is it?”

 

 

“Who is who?”

 

 

Mara rolls tri-green eyes at him. “Don't be an idiot. I can tell you've bonded to someone.”

 

 

And Jim promptly chokes on his tea. He can suddenly relate to why Bones told him off for just saying something like this out of the blue. “And how exactly do you know that?!”

 

 

“Remember I told you once that while I tune out people's thoughts, so that I don't hear anything more than ambient noise, I can pick up on a person's... presence, for lack of a better word? It's why you never managed to sneak up on me. Anyway, I can tell because bonds change that, and you feel different.”

 

 

“You know, if someone only heard that comment, they might get the wrong idea about us.”

 

 

“Then I will explain that I'm as content an asexual as you are a cheerful pansexual, Captain Innuendo. Nice try, Jim. So do you know who, or...?”

 

 

“No. I don't,” Jim says, voice clipped. “Actually, that's why I came by, I need to talk to your cold bastard of a twin brother.”

 

 

“Oh,” Mara says, sipping her tea. “Well, Tris has a consult but he should be home after that, so you probably won't have to wait long. By the way, your investigator still planning to retire in two years?”

 

 

“Foster? So far as I know, why? You want the Agent Afloat job?”

 

 

“It's ridiculous we call it that, of all the names we could have gotten stuck with from the old United States Navy... But what do you think? I joined up to see space, you know.”

 

 

“And yet you decided to be a space cop instead.”

 

 

“Key word is still space.”

 

 

Jim has to laugh. “True. Well, I'll keep you in mind, Lieutenant.”

 

 

“Thank you, Captain,” Mara says dryly, with the same grin she'd given him the day they met. He met Mara basically the same way he met Uhura, but she'd found his attempt to hit on her hilarious, and they've been friends ever since. They both like antique paper books, for one.

 

 

They're swapping stories – Jim's away missions for Mara's experiences working with the San Francisco police – when the door opens. Dr. Tristan Frost looks a lot like his sister at first glance, the same black hair, tri-green eyes, and face made up of sharp angles, but where Mara's a cheerful smart-ass, Jim is fairly certain Tristan's part robot. The only thing he seems to like is research. “Oh, Captain Kirk, what are you doing here?” Tristan asks as he pours himself a mug of tea.

 

 

“Unfortunately, I need your bashertology expertise, Frost,” Jim says, voice bland. “Believe me, I'd rather chat with someone else, but this is the only way it wouldn't end up on record.”

 

 

“Really? How strange, you're the second person from your ship to talk to me today,” Tristan says, leaning against the counter. “Not that I can tell you who it was, confidentiality and all that. But anyway, what do you need?”

 

 

“How would you advise going about identifying a bondmate that you're linked to subconsciously?”

 

 

Tristan's expression goes very strange for a second, like he's trying not to burst out laughing. “Sorry, you're bonded subconsciously to someone? _Really_?”

 

 

“That's not exactly odd, Tris,” Mara says, giving him a dirty look. From the way Tristan's head twitches, Jim suspects she told him off telepathically – Mara's the psychic, what Tristan does he's never been told and hasn't bothered to ask.

 

 

“No, not really, it's just... Well, Kirk, being you, you could always run around kissing the crewmembers you see most often – it is someone on your crew, otherwise you'd know by now. Or get your CMO to run scans, which is the standard approach.”

 

 

“Or use the dreams for clues,” Mara suggests.

 

 

“Mm, maybe, how well that works depends on how distinctive the flashes are,” Tristan counters. Jim thinks of the sky without a moon again. Distinctive. Well, that's pretty damn distinctive. Doesn't exactly solve his problem, though. His thoughts are interrupted when Tristan adds, “Oh, psychics can also trigger bonds going active with their abilities.”

 

 

Jim raises his eyebrows. “That'd be great if I were psychic, Frost. As it is, though, don't see how it helps me.”

 

 

“Just being thorough, Captain,” Tristan says, then takes his cup down the hall to his bedroom. Jim looks at Mara, who is watching her brother's retreating back with narrowed eyes.

 

 

“I take it back, you're the normal one in the family.”

 

 

Mara blinks and looks back at him, laughing softly. “No, that's probably Lyria, pyrokinesis aside. Thanks for the compliment, though. I'm not sure what that was about... Either he's messing with you or he wanted to give you some kind of clue, but Tris knows better than anyone how to shield from me – as much as anyone without psychic power can – so I've no idea which one it was.”

 

 

“Great. Like this shit wasn't confusing enough as it is,” Jim says, raking a hand through his hair. “Look, I'm gonna take off, go for a run maybe.”

 

 

Mara walks him to her door, looking him over carefully. “You know, I could try to track your bond. It's not something I've ever tried, I'll admit, but I know the theory. It's not a difficult trick – I've done far more delicate things easily, so it could be worth a shot. Then at least you'd know, and have some idea of how to approach whoever it is?”

 

 

Jim considers it briefly, but decides against it. He doesn't think it's a good idea to let another psychic into his head right now. Not when the dim flickers of a life not his have begun invading his waking hours. It's nothing serious, a faint whisper of things never said like a ghost on the Enterprise, when he's on the bridge or in his quarters or anywhere really – there's no pattern to it. It's not distracting so much as strange and kind of creepy. He figures it'll pass eventually, but for now more telepathy doesn't seem to be the thing to add. “Thanks but no thanks, Mara. I'll muddle through one way or another.”

 

 

He goes for a run along the Bay just like he said he would, just like he used to. He thinks he did this in a world where he had brown eyes too, although the music playing from his earpieces was drastically different. And Jim barely registers his train of thought, too busy brooding on what Tristan said and what Bones said before, about the ways people find out who's on the other end of a subconscious bond.

 

 

“ _You don't want to find out when something bad happens to whoever's on the other side – or by having something bad happen to you.”_

 

 

Jim knew Bones was right then, and he knows it now. He knows all too well, because he grew up with his mother's dead eyes, he knows it because he –

 

 

_He's kneeling in front of a glass door, palm pressed to the glass in a desperate attempt to touch the hand on the other side, and then it's falling away and he's alone and – no –_

 

 

_There's a sun-bright rope in his head connecting them, it's always been there since the first time their hands brushed and he didn't know how did he not know until now, always standing too close always knowing what the other meant and now – When it's shattering to nothing, shards biting into his soul like glass into every inch of his skin, and there's nothing left but grief and rage and a name he –_

 

 

“Whoa man, you ok?” And Jim comes back to himself gasping for breath, coming out of a waking dream unlike nothing he's ever known. Even that moment when he was eleven had nothing on this. He blinks up at the stranger who's keeping him steady and forces himself to stand up.

 

 

“Yeah,” he says with his most careless grin. “Guess this'lll teach me to run a couple miles on an empty stomach. “Thanks for the help.” Maybe he should have accepted Mara's offer after all, although if he's right about what set this off, he's still afraid to add more telepathy to the mix. What the fuck is happening to him? This isn't just about the bond anymore, this is...

 

 

Jim doesn't even know what this is anymore, because it _sure as fuck_ isn't emotional transference, and he has no idea what to do about it.

 

 

<><><>

 

 

They have taken to playing chess in Jim's quarters, rather than in the rec rooms, because it means they do not draw an audience. Spock had thought the interest the crew has in their games would cease with time, but as it hasn't, this works better. By now, Jim has told him not to even bother chiming for entrance, just to cut through the bathroom that connects their quarters. As he often finds the younger man engrossed in some novel downloaded to his PADD, barely aware of his surroundings – and sometimes not aware, so that Spock ends up using his override on the proper door or startling him when he enters through the bathroom – Spock finds this logical enough.

 

 

This time, however, he does not find Jim with his PADD, but sitting on his bed with an actual paper book. Against the wall, the large box Spock has often found himself having to consciously avoid so it does not trip him up is open, and he can see that it is filled with antique paper books, neatly stacked. “So this is why you have a box which must have filled most of your personal luggage quota?” he asks, and Jim looks up, eyes wide and startled behind a pair of black-framed glasses.

 

 

He has never seen Jim wear glasses before. It's illogical, but something about the dark frames suits the captain's face. Spock finds he likes the sight. To try and shake the thought, he adds, “And I was unaware you require corrective lenses.”

 

 

Jim laughs, setting the book aside and removing the glasses to place them on top of it. Spock knows a brief, irrational urge to request he put them back on, but he obviously does not give voice to it. “I don't, really, most of the time,” Jim explains. “I can increase the size of anything on a screen, and I'm only mildly farsighted. Doesn't cause trouble in the field or anything. I just have trouble with my books and their tiny print.”

 

 

“Would it not then be easier to simply replace your books with downloaded versions?” Spock is suddenly remembering the weight of a book in his hands, leaning back against the rough bark of a tree, and wonders why he is thinking of his bond dreams now. There has been no opportunity to research since they shipped out again, so he is no further to figuring out his situation than he was the day he left the bashertologist's office.

 

 

“Sure it would,” Jim says, cutting into his thoughts. “But I prefer the books. They're – well, this is going to sound silly, and don't you lecture me about being illogical, Mr. Spock, but they were like friends, when I was a kid. I like the weight in my hands, the smell of the paper... Sentimental, I know, but there it is. I had a bookshelf back home, but it didn't really fit the footloose reputation I built up at the Academy to show my bookworm side, so I put 'em in my grandfather's old trunk instead.”

 

 

“Bookworm?”

 

 

“Figure of speech, just means someone who likes to read,” Jim says, chuckling as he sets up the chessboard. “I call black this time, by the way.”

 

 

“Very well. Forgive me, but did I misunderstand the implication that you set out to create the negative parts of your reputation at the Academy?”

 

 

Jim looks up from the board, eyes sharp. “No, Spock, you didn't. It's not like I was faking it – just playing up one side of me so people didn't notice the rest of it. I mean, anyone who stopped to think would have realized it was part bullshit or I'd have flunked out, but people don't, really. Being underestimated can be useful. Although these days it's a little inconvenient.”

 

 

“Is that why you have never troubled to hide this 'bookworm' side from me?” Spock asks as they settle at the small table and he moves his first piece. He looks up from the board to find that Jim is still watching him, a curious expression in his eyes.

 

 

“No. I guess I just didn't want to fool you, after we got off to such a shitty start and then turned things around. More sentimental stuff, maybe, who knows?” He looks away then, suddenly almost skittish, which makes no sense. But he moves his piece, and at first the game continues as any other night, though they are more quiet than usual. Then Spock traps one of Jim's knights – it's nothing, a trivial thing, but Jim's expression goes blank, his eyes glassy. He does not slip from the chair, in fact it's as though he freezes in place, staring at something only he can see.

 

 

Spock recognizes the stillness, having seen it before. Jim is never still, even when seated in the captain's chair. He shifts and turns to speak to members of the bridge crew, his fingers tap the armrests. Except that there have been moments where he goes unsettlingly motionless. They never last, and so he has not questioned Jim about it.

 

 

He should have, he thinks, as he comes to his feet so quickly the chair falls to the floor behind him, crossing to kneel by Jim's chair, shaking his shoulders. “Jim? Jim!” But nothing happens, Jim still staring at something that isn't there, seeing and hearing something that Spock cannot. He thinks of paging Dr. McCoy but there seems to be nothing else wrong; Jim is breathing normally, his pulse when Spock presses fingers to his neck is steady. Whatever this is, it is not physical.

 

 

And if it is not physical...

 

 

He does not remember Frost's theory about mind melds, and it would not matter if he did. His fingers come to rest against Jim's meld points. “My mind to your mind...”

 

 

There is one moment, in the cool brightness that is Jim's mind, where Spock can see what is causing this. A shadow of himself but older... Did his elder self meld with Jim, is that how he told him what he needed to know of Nero? The flash of jealousy is meaningless; he ignores it. And behind that, faded and flickering, a Jim with eyes that are a pale if striking _brown_ instead of impossible brilliant _blue_ –

 

 

And then there is something like a click in the back of Spock's mind, everything suddenly a tumble of emotion and memory like nothing he's ever known. But something he was told of, warned of, and some part of him thinks he should have known from the moment he first laid eyes on an angry, defiant cadet in that hearing.

 

 

 _My mind to your mind_ , and Spock can sense Jim coming back to him as the link between them stretches out, bright and burning as the sum of both their lives rushes at them like a wave, like a cliff coming up and this time Spock cannot stay the fall, can only wrap his mind around Jim's as they tumble off together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a theory on what happened to Jim; I'll be getting into that next chapter. At least now the boys know, right?


	3. I Wanna Make You Go (I Wanna Make You Stay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knowing you're bonded only answers half the questions, and now Jim and Spock need to figure out just where they stand - and just what they want.

It's the precise chess move Spock makes that does it, that triggers a memory of another night, not on the _Enterprise_ but in an apartment where Jim can see the San Francisco skyline out the window. It's his but not his, not a place he's ever seen in this life. But in some other life he was sitting there playing chess with Spock, and it's the exact same move -

 

 

And then everything is light and a cool hand around his wrist again, pulling him out of the memories that aren't his own but almost could be, into a rushing whirl of memories, some that are his and others completely different as something in the very core of him snaps into place. And he knows, he knows who's he's linked to, whose life he's dreamed in snapshots all these years, and some part of Jim almost laughs because he _should have guessed_ _it_ , should have seen it in their perfect synergy the moment they decided to work together instead of fighting, even in the way they got under each other's skin so instantly –

 

 

Jim comes back to himself on the floor of his quarters, half sprawled on top of Spock who is blinking like he's just returning to awareness himself. He doesn't want to move, not really, wants to keep as much contact as possible, but he does anyway, rolling off Spock so he's lying on the floor, their hands still touching. He is nowhere near ready to try standing up just yet, memories still tumbling through his head and his body shaky like he's recovering from some kind of long illness.

 

 

Finally he turns his head in Spock's direction and says, voice rough, “I can't believe that giant cat-thing was your _pet_.”

 

 

“ _That_ is your first observation?” Spock says, his voice almost as wrecked as Jim's, turning his head to give Jim a particularly exasperated raised eyebrow. No, Jim can't explain how he knows the meaning of Spock's eyebrow language, but then again maybe it's another little thing the bond helps. Which, right, holy shit, he's bonded to Spock, and it feels like it should have been obvious but still. _Holy shit_.

 

 

“Working up to the important stuff, gimme a break here. _And_ I've been trying to figure that thing out since I was four.”

 

 

“If we are discussing trivial matters, why did you climb trees or find hollow places inside of bushes to find places to read? Could you not have remained in your room?”

 

 

“The point was as much to get out of the house as to find somewhere quiet to read. Seriously, though, you had basically a tiger-bear equivalent as a pet, _why_?”

 

 

“I found her as a juvenile and decided to try and raise her. It was fortunate that I did, as she then saved my life.”

 

 

And died doing it, Jim realizes, which he didn't know before – and he wouldn't have guessed that the memory still carries a faint sorrow, and guilt, since Spock had been out at night for a foolish reason anyway. Jim, who did plenty of foolish things as a kid, barely even needs to try to think of twenty of them, most glaringly –

 

 

“Did you mean to die that day?” Spock says, sitting up, and once he's up, well, Jim's not about to let himself be loomed over. So he pushes himself back to a sitting position, gritting his teeth against the sudden light-headedness. He knows what Spock's talking about, of course, but he has his own questions about that.

 

 

“Did you do it on purpose? I – I saw the night sky I used to dream about so much, wide awake and it was all I could see, and then it felt like someone grabbing my wrist.” And Vulcans run cooler than humans, Jim knows, which explains why the fingers wrapped around his wrist had felt cool, like the hand still resting against his.

 

 

“I could see the chasm coming up, and I wished to stop the fall. You did not answer me,” Spock says, dark eyes intent like he means to summon the answers from the force of his gaze alone. And maybe he actually can, in a way, because Jim shrugs, considers looking away but in the end stares right back.

 

 

“No,” he says quietly. “I wasn't trying to die and I wasn't trying to live. I just wanted _out_ , and it didn't matter what that meant. I was too young to understand what I was doing and too upset to care even if I had. And then I was seeing that sky, feeling a hand around my wrist. I knew I had to stay, I just didn't know why.” He refuses to look away, even though he can't read the look in those dark eyes as Spock studies him, as if trying to find more answers than there really are. “I can't explain it, Spock. I wasn't thinking clearly enough to have real reasons, not even looking back now. If you want logic... There isn't any here.”

 

 

Spock says nothing for a long moment. “I am glad that you jumped, and that I somehow helped cause you to do so.”

 

 

“Yeah,” Jim says. “Me too.” Sometimes he hasn't been, but all in all it's the truth. He rakes a hand through his hair, then sighs. “So... We know now. What happens next?” It turns out that he was wrong; actually feeling the bond go active only makes this whole thing a little less awkward.

 

 

“We have to file this with the Admiralty and with Dr. McCoy in his capacity as Chief Medical Officer,” Spock says, and Jim considers laughing, crying, and calmly beating his head against a wall before he just sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

 

“That's... not exactly what I meant. And I'm pretty sure you knew that, so you could have just said you don't know any more than I do.” Vulcans don't lie but apparently they can misdirect. Jim's going to have to remember that one.

 

 

“You are afraid of this.”

 

 

“And you never wanted it.” That rush of feeling and memory is still mostly a jumble in Jim's head, but there's a few clear things, and one of them is how much _resentment_ Spock has for any part of him that's human instead of Vulcan. “But here we are anyway, Spock. And – look. I'd like to think we're friends, would you argue that at this point?” When Spock doesn't speak up to counter the word, Jim continues, “So... That's where we start from, right? And we figure this out as it comes. I mean, this happens to total strangers on a regular basis, at least we know who we've got. That's logical enough, you've gotta like that.”

 

 

“While I am not certain your definition of logic is accurate, I find I cannot argue with you,” Spock admits, still giving Jim that searching look. Jim wonders what he thinks he'll find, what he could possibly be looking for. He wonders if it's even there to find, whatever it might be.

 

 

Well. Maybe they'll both find out.

 

 

<><><>

 

 

In the particulars, nothing changes once the bond is active. Spock and Jim continue on as they have been, as an increasingly well-suited command team on the bridge and during away missions, sharing the occasional meal and their regular chess games during their off-hours. Little changes, except that for the first time Spock can remember, his fingers itch to _touch_. Vulcans are not a tactile race for obvious reasons, yet he can remember his parents touching with far more frequency than other Vulcan spouses did. At the time, Spock had thought it just his mother's human nature, and at the Academy looking at which student couples were the most outwardly affectionate did not seem to indicate what kind of relationship they had.

 

 

Yet perhaps he should have read more into the way his parents interacted, because now with the bond a constant link between them, Spock finds himself constantly having to keep from reaching out to Jim. It is not, he thinks, about what the touch might be, it is simply that he wants the contact. But it is something so very foreign to him, so very human, that he cannot seem to allow himself to give in. Nor can he bring himself to ask Jim if it would even be welcome, and he has been unable to figure it out with observation thus far.

 

 

It does not help that Jim's idea of personal space is virtually no space at all, so that it would be so very _easy_... Nor does it help that, after they had inadvertently activated their bond, Jim had agreed to let Spock back into his mind to erase the memories the earlier mind meld with Spock's elder self had left him with, his mind that cool brightness that is as much a draw now as the thought of too-warm human skin. This, Spock recalls with uncharacteristic frustration, in spite of his failure to truly succeed in his goal. He had managed to lock the memories away such that Jim is no longer affected by them, and he has confirmed this to be true, but they are still _there_. Upon learning just how much the flashes of another world had been slowly overtaking his captain, Spock had been hard-pressed to suppress his discomfort with the knowledge.

 

 

In his meditations, he can admit to himself that some of this is jealousy. His older self has no right to _this_ Jim Kirk, to have left any mark on him at all. And to have left a mark that could easily have driven him mad...

 

 

When he requests a private subspace connection to New Vulcan, Nyota assumes he means to contact his father, and Spock lets her. He is glad she assumed why he wanted the connection, and did not actually ask. It is not something he particularly wishes to discuss – he has two conversations to attend to, and neither of them are likely to be pleasant.

 

 

His father he will speak to another day. The first face to fill his screen is familiar and not, their shared human eyes a discomfiting thing. Spock still thinks, when looking at his elder self, that on some level he does not quite wish to live so very long, to lose so much. “You should not have melded with my captain,” he says without preamble, and it is not until he has spoken that he realizes he placed a slight emphasis on the word 'my'.

 

 

His counterpart does not miss it. “So you have discovered the bond. I could sense it – just formed, and neither of you yet aware of it. If I might ask, what triggered it?”

 

 

“You do not know?” Spock bites out the challenge, more out of sorts than he had previously realized. Something unreadable flickers across the elder's face.

 

 

“I only know it was not in the way we discovered ours, my Jim Kirk and myself. It took us far longer and the circumstances were... difficult.”

 

 

“I was attempting to fix the damage _you_ caused him,” Spock says, voice cold – despite what Dr. McCoy thinks, his voice is typically even, not cold. “I do not know if your bond attempted to repair itself by connecting to him, if it was simply a strange effect of the mind meld, or something else, and I _do not care_. He has been getting flashes of your world, strong enough recently to overcome his conscious mind. You very nearly drove him mad.”

 

 

There is silence from his elder counterpart for a long moment. “Then I must apologize. I had little reason to think that there would be adverse effects, but I certainly would not have harmed your captain intentionally. Do you require assistance to undo it?”

 

 

“I do not think further input from you would be helpful, as it is likely your connection to your James Kirk that caused it,” Spock says, and his voice is back to its usual evenness now. He ends the call a moment later, having little else to say. Part of him is, admittedly, tempted to ask his elder self how he and his Jim Kirk managed to settle things between them, but he refuses to do so. They are not the same men, and their arrangement likely would not work for Spock and Jim as they are in this reality.

 

 

And for the moment, he has another call to make. T'Pring is changed from when they last saw one another, of course; Spock knows that she only barely escaped Vulcan with a handful of others who she herself had rallied, that only her youngest brother still remains of her family. Even Vulcans cannot come away from losses as great as they have collectively suffered unchanged, for all that it appears so to outsiders.

 

 

“Spock.”

 

 

“T'Pring. We must discuss – ”

 

 

“Our broken betrothal bond,” she cuts him off, and Spock resists the urge to say there was little enough to break in that moment his bond to Jim went active, triggering a Vulcan bond from his side of the link as well as the human one. A betrothal bond, presumably, though it feels different enough from his former bond with T'Pring that he wonders if it is something else. Of course, she had already worn their bond to as faint a thing as she could, so he could simply be working with faulty knowledge. He had blamed himself and his mixed blood for that, until he had mentioned the weakness of the bond to his father before the survivors of Vulcan departed for the colony and had learned that such a thing could only be deliberate. And so he keeps silent as she continues, “So you are human enough to have bonded after their fashion.” There is distaste behind her neutral tone, but also relief – Spock does not know which sets his teeth on edge, but he suspects it is probably both.

 

 

He has always known of T'Pring's reluctance to marry him – it was present even when they were seven years old, when she did not find his half-human mind to her liking. As adolescents, her opinion had only hardened in that way, and in Spock's view, they were an ill-suited match in many areas for which they are both responsible. Although he has always sympathized with one of her reasons for not wanting him; she has always wanted someone else, and would probably have been against marrying him regardless of anything else. He cannot hold this against her, although since her choice falls on Stonn he can and occasionally does privately question her _taste_. But in the end, it had all meant that they were both decidedly unsatisfied by their situation, although Spock's place with Starfleet had at least meant they need not keep company often.

 

 

In truth, perhaps he ought to acknowledge that the relief, at least, is on his side as much as hers.

 

 

“What little information there is on circumstances such as these suggests that any attempt to recreate our betrothal link, or to come together when one of us reaches the Time, will fail. As such, you are free to pursue a new match of your choice, and I disavow any right to challenge it, at any time.” They both know who she will choose, but the words are an expected formality. “I wish you good fortune,” he adds, and in truth he means it. Their not being suited does not make T'Pring any less worthy of ordering her life in the ways that will suit her best, after all.

 

 

The bathroom door opens and Spock realizes too late that he has forgotten to shield the bond properly. For some reason, his usual shielding methods are less effective on the bond; in some ways Jim is better at controlling it than he is, due to years of practice shielding against the low-level transference unformed bonds sometimes send along with dreams. Spock never bothered to shield against that directly, and it requires a turn of mind that is uncomfortable to him. Jim remains in the doorway; from where he stands he will see T'Pring on Spock's viewscreen, but she will not be able to see him. Spock doesn't bother to look at him; he knows where he is through their link and looking would only draw T'Pring's attention and possibly prolong this conversation.

 

 

As it is, if she heard the door open, she gives no sign of it. Instead, she merely lifts a hand in the ta'al. “Live long and prosper, Spock.”

 

 

“Live long and prosper, T'Pring,” Spock replies, returning the gesture before ending the transmission. He turns now to look at Jim, who is leaning on the doorframe, looking almost sheepish. The emotions he is picking up through their link are definitely sheepish, but also curious.

 

 

“Sorry, I guess I should have knocked. Just, you kind of blasted me, I thought something might be wrong.”

 

 

“'Blasted' you?” Spock asks, head tilted.

 

 

“Yeah, you were seriously pissed at someone – her? I mean, the moment you saw me you locked down, but you felt more... uncomfortable with her, like she bothers you somehow. Not angry though, not really. I'd have been by sooner but I was down in Engineering with Scotty, took me time to get up here. Is everything all right?”

 

 

“I am fine, simply taking care of an obligation.” This is true enough, overall.

 

 

“Then why are you so upset?”

 

 

“I am Vulcan, and we -”

 

 

“Bullshit, Spock. You don't _want_ to feel emotion, maybe, you definitely rationalize your feelings into submission, sure. But I know that you feel things. And you're upset. Who was that anyway?”

 

 

Spock sighs, and decides that it cannot do much harm if he explains a little. “T'Pring and I were betrothed.”

 

 

“Bet- wait a fucking second, you're engaged? Isn't that something I should know? Wait, did Uhura know, back when you two were – ”

 

 

“Even at the time, it was likely one of us would find a way to break the betrothal,” Spock says, his voice even more clipped than usual as he allows just a bit of irritation to show. “T'Pring and I were betrothed, as is custom, when we were seven, but we were ill-suited in a number of ways and to fulfill the agreement would not have been logical. However, it no longer matters.”

 

 

Jim shifts to what Spock assumes is a more comfortable stance against the doorframe, folding his arms over his chest. “Why not?”

 

 

“Vulcan betrothal involves a mental link that matures when the marriage takes place. However, when a Vulcan is the bondmate of an alien, the formation of said bond breaks any pre-existing betrothal bonds, and spontaneously forms a new one to the being who bonded to them. Typically, this is the only reciprocation we can offer to a soulmate link. In our case, as I am half-human, I bonded to you in both human and Vulcan ways. But the effect on my link to T'Pring was the same; it no longer exists. I was obliged to inform her so that she can speak to the lover she would prefer to marry, allowing them to make arrangements,” Spock explains.

 

 

Jim ponders this. “So I got you out of marrying someone you were stuck with. Good to know I have some use,” he quips after a moment. “Can I – why'd she upset you so much, though, if you didn't want to marry her?”

 

 

“I would prefer not to discuss it. Suffice it to say that T'Pring's chief objection to me was, as with many of our peers, my mixed heritage. It brings back things I wish not to dwell on.”

 

 

If the expression on Jim's face is anything to go by, this was not a welcome response. Still, Spock is not yet willing to share those things – if he will ever be willing to do so. Jim is studying him and it's not entirely comfortable, but all Spock's captain says is, “Well, whatever it was, if they had issues with you for something you couldn't control, they were the assholes. And you might be stuck with me now, but I promise I don't have any issues with that, if I can't offer much else.”

 

 

“We are compatible partners in our vocations,” Spock offers.

 

 

“Don't forget in chess,” Jim adds with a grin. If Spock were human, he might laugh; he allows a brief hint of a smile and is rewarded with an added brightness to the grin Jim is giving him. He is not willing to speak yet, perhaps not ever, but the negative feelings he did not wish to acknowledge, that brought Jim to his door, fade quite rapidly as Jim launches into an explanation of what he was doing with Mr. Scott in engineering, and that may be enough to be going on with.

 

 

<><><>

 

 

The thing of it is, the bond has nothing to do with the fact that, when on diplomatic missions, Jim and Spock pretty much insist on sharing quarters. Actually, having the bond kind of makes things awkward, like the time they ended up with one bed and Jim woke up in a weird sprawl that told him clear as day he'd gone into limpet mode again. He's been told he does that sometimes, kind of just wraps around someone he's sleeping next to.

 

 

The shared quarters thing came about after an incident on their second official mission, where a small faction of dissenters, not wanting their planet to join the Federation, nearly abducted several members of the team. Including Jim, and he's really, really glad he managed to shoot the guys sent to grab him because he knows he never would have lived it down. But now their standing rule is that no member of the crew sleeps alone when on a mission, and it only makes sense for the captain and first officer to share when they're both part of the away team. It allows them to discuss their situations more easily, without potentially drawing attention by going to one room or the other. It works, is the thing, and it has little to do with the bond, so Jim would really like certain crew members to stop saying it does when they think he can't hear.

 

 

Really, if only they were having as much fun in shared quarters as certain people seem to think.

 

 

Delarin III is no different, of course. Jim and Spock settle in the room they're given, comparing notes on the Elar. The Elar are bipedal, but they also have four arms, their skin a pale green. Like Vulcans, they're vegetarian, but they seem to rely on... Well, they refuse to say which of their native plants is absolutely necessary to their survival, and Jim thinks that's smart of them really. They're here to negotiate buying rights for a certain kind of mold-resistant grain that they grow. Jim, thinking of Tarsus, is more subdued than usual when he and Spock go over this, but Spock says nothing. Jim's sure he notices – Spock gets this crease between his eyebrows when something bothers him – but maybe he's decided that since he's not up to sharing what bothers _him_ , he can't very well ask Jim to.

 

 

The opening round of negotiations goes about as well as can be expected. No one's satisfied yet, but no one got angry either, so as far as Jim's concerned they're off to a good start. That night is a welcoming feast, and while he kind of misses meat, it's nice to eat non-replicated food. Even unfamiliar food that looks kind of like asparagus only big enough that people eat slices of it, and also bright blue. There's plenty of juices on offer, as well as some kind of herbal tea that is apparently only offered to honored guests. Another good sign.

 

 

The first sign that the tea might be more than it seems is that Jim's mouth starts to tingle, like he'd just used super-strength mouthwash or something. The feeling spreads to his lips and he rubs them surreptitiously, wondering what's going on. Everyone else seems fine, though he guesses outwardly so does he.

 

 

In the back of his mind the bond twitches; Jim glances at Spock, who watches him with a slightly raised eyebrow. “The tea's making me feel a little weird,” he explains in an undertone, enunciating a bit more carefully to compensate for his semi-numbed tongue. He flexes his hands; they're tingling too now, and so are his feet, the sensation creeping up his ankles and wrists. He feels a little light-headed, as if the blood suddenly just rushed to his head. “Maybe it's spiked with something?”

 

 

“I do not believe that is a common practice here, and the fact that no one else exhibits symptoms would suggest that you are the only one affected.” Spock's fingers curl around Jim's wrist, cooler than Jim remembers, and a tiny involuntary sound escapes him. It's such a small touch, but he's wanted something, anything for so long that –

 

 

“Jim. Are you listening to me?”

 

 

“Uh... You said something?”

 

 

“That is a negative then. Your pulse rate is elevated, as is your body temperature. You are perhaps having an allergic reaction to the herbs in the tea. It is my understanding that you have various uncommon allergies.”

 

 

“Could be,” Jim says lazily; he feels kind of dazed now, almost half-asleep. The tingling feels nice, now.

 

 

“I will accompany you back to our assigned quarters,” Spock says, that frown line appearing between his eyebrows. Jim almost reaches up to smooth it away, but remembers just in time that his touch isn't really that welcome.

 

 

By the time they're halfway to guest quarters, Jim's forgotten to respect the bit of space always between them – or maybe Spock has, since he's the one who wrapped an arm around Jim's waist when he first stumbled. Jim isn't complaining, regardless; it gives him an excuse to lean heavily into Spock's side, enjoying the contact. He hears himself make a little pleased hum, but he's too far gone to worry about it. Maybe he should have tried some of the drugs he'd had chances to buy in his wandering days, if being high feels this nice.

 

 

“That would have been highly illogical, to dull your senses in such a manner. Particularly as you would have been alone in a vulnerable state as a result,” Spock says, and Jim actually giggles when he realizes he said that out loud. Whoops. Spock sounds like he's lecturing. It's a good sound on him. Well, his voice always sounds good but...

 

 

“Nice professor voice. I never woulda been able to concentrate on the actual words, if you taught me. Way too into just listenin' to your tone. Would've been the kid with the crush, never woulda done anything though. Line you don't cross.”

 

 

“You are inebriated and saying nonsensical things, Captain. I will give them no credence.

 

 

“Worried 'bout me, C'm'n'der?” He said that wrong. Oh well. Jim's eyes slide closed and his knees buckle; Spock picks him up outright. He doesn't respond to Jim's comment and Jim sighs, letting his head rest against Spock's shoulder. If he were more with it, Jim knows he'd object to the bridal carry thing, but right now he really can't seem to care. “Oh wait, no. Vulcans. Y'don't worry, right?” Still no answer.

 

 

They reach the room and Spock puts Jim down on the bed further from the door – vaguely Jim remembers this is their usual set-up. He curls into himself on the bed, looking up at Spock. “You're even taller now. Not fair. But hey. Had an excuse to touch you.” When Spock's brow furrows, Jim explains. “Always wanna touch you.”

 

 

“You – ”

 

 

Jim makes a face. “Not – that wasn't – not flirting. Didn't mean like that, though _yeah_ , if you... But I meant. Anything. Handshakes, or hugs, patting or, or... Whatever.” There's a lump in his throat now, why? Jim shakes his head and looks away, managing to get himself under the blanket before he closes his eyes.

 

 

Just before he passes out, he thinks he feels someone pet his hair, but his loopy brain is probably making things up.

 

 

<><><>

 

 

This is not his dream. Spock is unsure as to why he is so certain of this; he simply knows it. He also knows that he has regressed in age – odd, as typically when this happens in a dream, he is unaware of no longer being that age until he wakes. In this case, he is aware of being 19.6 standard years old. He was a cadet at the Academy when he was nineteen in truth, and in this dream too his surroundings appear to be Terran. It is just that it's not anywhere he's ever seen. The house he stands in front of is weathered, a car in the garage and a hoverbike parked in front of the porch.

 

 

Inside, a woman is shouting, and as Spock approaches, he can hear her more clearly through a partly-opened window. “ – could have saved him if not for you!” This is followed by an almost-familiar laugh; he knows that laugh, but has never heard it sounding so bitter or so young.

 

 

“Then it's time to throw a fucking party, _Mom_ , because you never have to deal with me again!” It's Jim shouting, of course, voice just slightly higher with youth than the way Spock is used to hearing it.

 

 

“If you walk out that door, don't you dare come back!”

 

 

“Who the fuck would want to?” The front door bangs open and a teenaged Jim stalks out, heading for the hoverbike. If Spock is nineteen, regressed to the age at which these events occurred – and he is certain somehow that this dream, Jim's dream, is based in truth, if somewhat altered now by quirks of a subconscious human mind – then Jim is sixteen.

 

 

“How did you get in here?” Jim is watching him, and in spite of the shaggy hair and slightly overlarge clothes, in spite of his young face, those watchful eyes belong to the adult Jim Spock knows.

 

 

“I am not certain how, Jim,” he says truthfully, “ but I would theorize that it is a side effect of our bond.”

 

 

“Now you mention it, I do remember reading something about that.” Jim gestures toward the hoverbike. “Well, come on then.”

 

 

“I do not understand.”  
  
  


“We're going for a ride. One-way, out of town.” Jim settles himself on the hoverbike's seat, looking back at Spock with a sharp smile. “Don't need helmets in a dream, Spock.”

 

 

That does not mean that Spock wishes to join Jim on the hoverbike, a vehicle that is impractical, dangerous, and clearly not designed for two riders. But this is a dream and so danger is irrelevant, practicality means little, and as it is Jim's dream presumably he has some reason for insisting upon it. “Is this how you left home in truth?” he asks as he walks over. There are a few awkward moments as he arranges himself behind Jim, and Spock finds himself pressed against Jim's back, arms around his waist and chin on his shoulder. It is more contact than they have ever had save in those first moments after their bond went active, and for once Spock's constant urge to _touch_ is satisfied.

 

 

“Not quite,” Jim answers as he flips switches on the hoverbike's control panel. “Didn't have the bike then, and also I had a duffle bag with my clothes and a backpack with my books. I never have any bags when this dream cycles around again. But anyway, I hitched my way to the nearest train station – cheaper than shuttles, if slower – and bought a ticket to Chicago, was there for a few months. Won the bike in a game of pool, believe it or not.”

 

 

Spock, who has seen Jim play pool in one of the rec rooms more than once, both when he is feigning inability and when he suddenly displays his skill, is about to say that he does indeed believe it when, suddenly, Jim starts the motorbike. Because this is Jim Kirk, they start out at maximum speed, and dream or no, the rush of air makes breathing difficult, the roar of the engine renders speaking aloud pointless. They race through endless empty fields that soon shift to dying empty fields. Even over the motor, Spock hears the occasional blast of phaser fire. 'Where is this?' he sends to Jim through the bond.

 

 

'Tarsus IV,' Jim answers the same way, and Spock can sense anger, grief and dread all twisted up inside the thought. Jim clearly knows this dream, knows what memories it will conjure next. This is not Spock's dream, but he is aware within it. Perhaps he can...

 

 

The landscape flickers, and now they race over desert in the fading light of sunset. Jim slows to a stop, looking around in confusion. “This isn't Tarsus.”

 

 

“No. It is Vulcan. More accurately, this is what the desert outside the capital city of Shi'Kahr looked like,” Spock tells him. Here, there is no city to the west, just endless desert in all directions, because Spock did not envision any city, just the sands.

 

 

“Did you just take over my dream?” Jim asks, sounding almost amused.

 

 

“It seemed prudent, given your growing distress. I take it you survived the events on Tarsus during the famine?” Spock remembers discussing the news when he was still a student, seventeen and looking at the situation from perspectives of logic and ethics. There are times when, even for a Vulcan, logic in its purest form goes too far; for one example, Vulcans do not practice eugenics any more than any other Federation race, for all that some could argue there is logic in it. What Kodos did falls into a similar area.

 

 

“What, that wasn't in my file next to my dad?” Jim says bitingly, before sighing and running a hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he continues, more contrite. “I've – I don't talk about it, really. We – there were these other kids, younger than me. I tried to take care of them, me and the couple others who were old enough to help. Not – some of the kids – they didn't all – ”

 

 

“I grieve with thee,” Spock says, turning to formality for lack of anything better to say, and Jim makes a sound that might be a laugh under other circumstances.

 

 

“I don't let it rule me. That gives Kodos a victory he doesn't deserve. But thanks.”

 

 

 _You don't speak of it, yet you dream of it, and of a mother who holds you responsible for your father's death when it was not your doing at all. You have never even argued the point with her, have you?_ But then, doesn't Spock understand that, is he not still haunted by the psychic screams as his planet died, his mother's eyes he must also confront in his own reflection, does he not feel guilt simply for existing in the world as neither one thing nor another? He cannot help but notice this similarity among all the others he'd never thought to find, cannot help but remember Jim's comment months ago about his dreams rarely being pleasant.

 

 

Spock has an urge to say something, but he cannot find the words, and so he moves to get off of the hoverbike. However, Jim's fingers curl around his wrists, and he pauses. “Just – stay a minute? Please?”

 

 

I always want to touch you, Jim had said. Perhaps it was not just the Elar tea making Jim say those words, after all. Spock does not get up, in the end. For once, why not indulge? No one else will know, and it need not change anything between them. He settles his chin on Jim's shoulder again, for one long moment in the dimming sunlight. The landscape flickers once again, leaving them on the edge of a quarry in the half-dark of fading stars and slowly rising sun of the early morning, and then –

 

 

And then Spock is blinking awake, staring at the ceiling of his quarters. He rolls onto his side without thinking, turning to face the far wall, where a door to their shared bathroom essentially connects his quarters to Jim's. He is awake earlier than necessary, and if he stays just as he is until his internal clock tells him it is time to prepare for his shift, no one else has to know.  
  


 

<><><>

 

 

It takes a few minutes for Jim to figure out why he wakes up staring at the door between his and Spock's rooms. Then he remembers his dream – an old one, where walking out on his mother becomes riding through Tarsus to the killing fields. Except it had been interrupted by Spock – a younger Spock, to boot. Jim had been sixteen when he left home, is always sixteen in the dream even though Tarsus happened when he was younger, so he'd guess Spock was probably nineteen or so.

 

 

He rolls onto his other side, willing himself back to sleep, trying to pretend the swap meet fleece blanket wrapped around him is arms holding him close instead. He thinks of Spock pressed against his back in the dream and grits his teeth when he remembers asking him not to move. How fucking pathetic is he? Except it's not, really, even if it feels like it is; wanting to touch a bondmate is normal. It's just Jim's bad luck that he's already a tactile person and bonded to a touch-averse half-Vulcan.

 

 

Eventually, Jim gives up on sleep, keeping the blanket around his shoulders as he reaches over to grab one of the books from his 'library box', as he likes to call it. He picks up a book at random, huffing a laugh when he realizes it's _A Dream of Spring_. Normally, he wouldn't go for ridiculously elaborate fantasy this early in the morning, but as a way to distract himself it's perfect. And hey, their latest assignment is negotiation, it's even kind of theme.

 

 

If he has a vague sense of being watched, he ignores it, even when he exchanges the book for his PADD to go over the mission briefs one last time.

 

 

They arrive on K'reylua to negotiate for dilithium crystals, which the Reylu, as the natives are called, mine from three of their four moons. What is different is that they actually had to bring up the bond this time in order to share a room. On K'reylua, sharing sleeping quarters is strictly forbidden unless you're blood relatives or Marked. Marked being their version of soulmates, the only way to stick to their usual plan had been to 'fess up to being bonded themselves.

 

 

Which is why Jim now can't get away from Drian, one of the negotiators' aides. The Reylu are fascinated by this kind of bonding that is only in the mind, and it's been clear all day that they were only just refraining from asking for details because it wouldn't be appropriate while talking business. Spock, the lucky bastard, managed to make a fairly quick escape – which leaves Jim to answer question after question. Drian has actually been one of the quieter ones so far, just kind of following Jim like he wants to ask something but doesn't quite dare.

 

 

Jim, for his part, has been asking questions right back because fair is fair, and what he's learned is this. Each Reylu has two Marks; left hand is for 'chosen lover' and right hand for 'shieldkin'. Near as he can tell, this works out to one romantic and one platonic soulmate for each person. Sometimes the Marks match up pretty well into a closed group, sometimes not so much. Also, there's a ritual he can't pronounce where it sounds like they drink a hallucinogenic in order to trigger a psychic component to their bond. Which is... interesting.

 

 

Then Drian finally speaks up. “With your invisible Marks,” he begins, “they are the same, yes? There is one for a chosen lover and one for shieldkin? Your second in command is your shieldkin, but you have a chosen lover out there somewhere?”

 

 

Jim blinks rapidly, caught pretty off-guard by the personal question – up till now it's been a pretty generic comparison of the two bonding patterns. “Not... exactly. Mostly when we bond, we listen to our instincts, and figure out what both – or all three, some of us have two bondmates just like your people, but it isn't necessarily one romantic and one platonic – want from the bond.”

 

 

Drian looks horrified – at least, Jim thinks that's what the twitching head-tails and wide solid green eyes indicate. “But without a sign to show you the way, how do you know you have chosen rightly?”

 

 

“Drian! You are needed elsewhere,” one of the other aides calls, and Drian leaves at a quick walk, leaving Jim to turn away and head for the quarters he's sharing with Spock. Which is good. Which is fine. He's tired of questions anyway.

 

 

_Your second in command is your shieldkin._

 

 

_How do you know you have chosen rightly?_

 

 

Fuck. He doesn't need this. Things are good between them, he really and truly does not need this. Just because Jim has his moments where he would really like to find out just what Spock would do if he backed him against the nearest wall or leaned over the chess board and pulled him in or – OK, the point is there is definitely an annoyingly large corner of Jim's mind that wants to know what Spock would do if he kissed him, never mind the precise location. But the thing is, finding that out is _not worth the risk_ that doing it will fuck everything up between them. Or so he reminds himself, often.

 

 

He might, possibly, slam the door a little when he finds their room in the guest quarters, but luckily for him Spock is meditating and doesn't react. Jim, for his part, drops down to the cushions around the low table – like some Earth cultures, the Reylu prefer low to the ground tables and cushions or rugs on the floor to chairs. It's not that bad, even if his back was twinging a little earlier, after the day's meetings were finished. He tries to focus on his PADD and the paperwork he needs to get through for tomorrow's meeting, but his mind keeps wandering.

 

 

_How do you know you have chosen rightly?_

 

 

He doesn't know. He can't know, because this whole damn thing is impossible. He wonders, for what feels like the millionth time, what the other Kirk and Spock were to each other. The flashes he'd gotten only tell him so much – he knows, for example, that the way they found out was horrible, from the flashback he'd had along the Bay, though he still doesn't _quite_ understand what was happening there. He knows... a handful of things they'd said to each other –

 

 

“ _You almost make me believe in luck.”_

 

 

“ _You almost make me believe in miracles.”_

 

 

Spock – his Spock – had locked the imprint or whatever it is down so Jim isn't hit by any of it anymore, and overall he prefers that. The last thing he needs is to zone out at an important time, after all. There's times, though, when he keeps turning over the bits of things he knows, wondering if there's any hints for how he should handle things in them. Except... In the end, is that how he _wants_ to handle things? The ghosts in his head are different men than he and Spock are, they can't be otherwise, their world and their beginnings are too different.

 

 

He doesn't know, in the end. All he knows is that the way things are is good, but sometimes...

 

 

Spock settles not quite across from him at the table, and Jim jumps, startled out of his thoughts. “You skipped out early,” he says, voice as mild as he can make it. Which isn't very, but at least he doesn't sound confrontational.

 

 

“I considered it best to remove myself from an exasperating situation.”

 

 

“Ah, they're not so bad,” Jim says, even though he's inclined to agree with Spock's assessment. He's not sure why he does it, except that maybe Spock has one of the same buttons Jim's found in himself, and he's going to press it and see what happens. Why the hell not. It's his old recklessness, and he can almost taste the crisp sweetness of an apple, just like the one he ate sitting in the Maru's captain's chair. Another round with the same opponent in the end, why the hell not indeed.

 

 

“You enjoy their questioning?”

 

 

“No, not really.” Truth is truth, and needling aside it's not easy to lie to Spock, all things considered. “But I figure it just means I can ask questions back. Their Marks system is really pretty interesting, don't you think? I mean, I thought you'd love it. All laid out nice and neat and logical, no complicated feelings to sort through to figure out just what things ought to be.” It's not a fair thing to say. Jim _knows_ it's not a fair thing to say, but he can't help it. Spock's eyes narrow, but Jim keeps going. “They know who their lovers are, who their best friends forever are, no questions asked. Must be nice for them.”

 

 

“It would sound as though it is you who would prefer such easy distinction,” Spock says, and there is something in his voice that Jim can't quite read, he just knows it's different from his bondmate's usual even tones.

 

 

“What I would prefer, Mr. Spock, isn't something I think you want to know.” Where is the anger coming from? How can he feel so angry, in a way that feels like it's been brewing for ages, and not have known it was there? Jim doesn't know, but God, he's so angry he could start ten bar fights, or, or...

 

 

“And what makes you think you can predict my reactions, _Captain_?”

 

 

And all Jim can think is, well prove me wrong then, and he's half-pouncing across the distance between them, hooking one hand around the back of Spock's neck and kissing him hard enough to bruise. Jim expects Spock to throw him off, to simply wait it out without response in an infuriating Vulcan manner, and some small desperate part of him hopes Spock will kiss him back but –

 

 

But what he does not expect is to suddenly find himself flat on his back, pinned to the floor with Spock pressed against him, kissing him back deep and fierce. “This is for no one but us to define,” Spock says when the kiss finally breaks, a low growl of speech with them still close enough to be breathing the same air. “I would not stand there and tolerate others speculating on it, asking if we are shieldkin or lovers as if they had any right to place their distinctions upon us.”

 

 

“You – you know the whole damn crew's doing the same thing, right?” Jim manages, because he's not dumb and he knows there's betting pools and gossip making the rounds, but Spock's never reacted like this before despite almost certainly being as aware of it as Jim is. Not that he's complaining, just a little confused.

 

 

“They do not ask us to our faces things they have no right to know,” Spock answers, voice still that low growl. “They do not presume to tell us exactly what we will mean to each other, and I have no interest in such things.”

 

 

There's something more in this, Jim senses, but while he might ask later for the moment he doesn't give a damn, as he threads his fingers through Spock's hair and pulls him into another kiss. “So why don't we figure it out then?” he murmurs against cool lips. “If we aren't going to let anyone else do it, then we need to, don't we?”

 


	4. Attraction in the Present Tense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Spock's bond continues to develop, but one bad mission could ruin the progress they've made.

They make it to the bed eventually, for which Jim is grateful when he wakes up the next morning. The Reylu sleep on mattresses resting atop low frames, low to the ground like their tables, so it wasn't exactly difficult. For a moment, Jim thinks he's gotten himself a little too tangled in the bedding, before he realizes that, no, he's tangled up in his Vulcan bondmate.

 

 

He never would have pegged Spock for a cuddler, but apparently he is, arms wrapped around Jim's waist, their legs tangled together, Spock's face pressed against Jim's hair. “You are thinking far too loudly,” he mumbles, and the rough edge of sleep in that usually level voice is both endearing and kind of ridiculously attractive.

 

 

“Sorry, I'll try to think more quietly,” Jim says in a half whisper, fingertips stroking the tops of Spock's hands where they rested just above his stomach. At some point they also put their pants back on, which Jim doesn't really remember. “Just let me know when you wake up so I can turn the volume back up.

 

 

“Exasperating human,” Spock grumbles, lifting his head. “I am awake now. And you deliberately provoked me last night.”

 

 

“Can't deny that,” Jim agrees cheerfully. “You're not seriously complaining about the results? I mean, I thought we were both enjoying ourselves a lot, you know.”

 

 

“I am not saying it was less than pleasing, simply that I am not certain we were ready to – ”

 

 

Spock's grip has loosened just enough that Jim can turn in his arms, and so he does, eyes narrowed. “Spock. We're bonded. Sex – it settles bonds, that's proven fact and if I can feel the difference in our link now I know you can. We were probably headed for this at some point anyway, and luckily neither of us can get accidentally knocked up, so there's no risk of drastically increasing our responsibilities or anything.”

 

 

“That is hardly the point. We were still exploring our connection to each other and this happened very abruptly. I am not complaining about it, merely expressing concern that we are 'moving too fast', as humans are so fond of saying.” There's a line between Spock's brows that Jim has identified as a sign of his worry, and impulsively Jim kisses him.

 

 

It's not like the tackle-kiss Spock initiated last night, or like the needy, demanding kisses they'd shared afterwards. Jim keeps the kiss soft, lazy, one hand curled loosely around the back of Spock's neck. “Look, I don't know what's fast or slow with this stuff. But this feels right to me. Tell me it doesn't for you and we'll work it out, but can you honestly say this feels wrong or too soon or whatever? By instincts if you don't want to admit to feelings.” He murmurs his argument against Spock's lips, then kisses him again, still soft and sweet.

 

 

 

When Jim goes to draw away, Spock lifts a hand and threads his fingers through Jim's hair, keeping him close. He rests his forehead against Jim's, watching him from such little distance – this close, Jim realizes that Spock's eyes aren't just brown but a human brown. He must have his mother's eyes.

 

 

 

“Yes, I do have her eyes. It is both comfort and torment now.”

 

 

 

“They suit you,” Jim tells him quietly. “Didn't mean to project.”

 

 

 

“I do not mind hearing your thoughts, Jim. As to what you have said... No. I cannot say this feels wrong. Still, I do not wish to cause trouble for us in the future.”

 

 

 

Jim can't exactly blame him. He'd be lying if he said nothing about this scares him, not least the growing affection he has for Spock regardless of the bond. That would be there without it, and with it... He knows his mother's fate, and she's not the only bond gone wrong case he's seen. But – maybe it's part of the bond, maybe it's his natural love of risks, maybe part of it is even the locked-away echoes of another life that he still remembers seeing, but he wants this. He wants everything this can be, everything _they_ can be.

 

 

 

“Why don't we just take it as it comes? We fit, Spock. Not just because of the bond, once we got our heads out of our asses we started working together like we'd been doing it for years, not fighting like cats and dogs every second we could up till then. We became friends before we knew the bond was there. Sure, it probably influenced us a little even dormant, but it was still mostly us. And I think we're doing all right so far. Don't you?”

 

 

“I must admit our relationship has been successful thus far in every previous form.”

 

 

“Well, there you go. This is just one more element.”

 

 

“An element which we will have to put on record as soon as we return to the Enterprise. I am not certain I wish to tolerate Dr. McCoy's reactions a second time.”

 

 

 

Jim... had actually forgotten about that little detail. Well, it should be funny at least.

 

 

 

<><><>

 

 

 

If Spock had found McCoy's response to the news that he and Jim were bonded to be irritating, he has to admit that watching him make faces and declare he wants to have absolutely no details of their sexual relationship is at least slightly more amusing.

 

 

“Ugh. You two are – I don't want to know anything! Nothing! Do you hear me, Jim?” McCoy says, narrowing his eyes at them both.

 

 

“Loud and clear, Bones,” Jim says with mischief in his eyes. “Although, really, you've _walked in_ on me, you'd think it would have stopped bothering you.” Spock does not particularly care for this bit of information, and is gratified when McCoy doesn't volunteer any details about it, instead rolling his eyes.

 

 

“Don't care about before, don't want to know anything now.”

 

 

“We do not intend to tell you anything that is not pertinent to a health issue,” Spock tells him flatly, and McCoy makes a face.

 

 

“You might not, but this little shit loves to torture me.”

 

 

“Not when it means I end up banished to the couch, Bones!” Jim laughs. Spock is not familiar with the reference, but he can surmise that it has something to do with one's lover banishing one from the bed. If Jim were to decide to share stories of their sexual pursuits with the doctor, this reference would be an accurate indication of the result. McCoy rolls his eyes.

 

 

“OK you two lovebirds. Out!” He points to the door and Jim, still laughing, obeys the order, Spock a half-pace behind. They're due on the bridge, so they take the turbolift up together, Jim brushing his fingers lightly against Spock's in a Vulcan kiss just before they get off. He did not teach Jim that, and so Spock tells himself it's the surprise that leaves him frozen with shock and something that feels worryingly like being smitten, not the easy affection of the gesture.

 

 

Vulcans do not lie, but occasionally they ignore a larger truth in focusing on smaller ones.

 

 

The shift is uneventful, as they are en route to the nearest Starbase – Starbase Six – following their successful mission to K'reylua. Due to most of the core crew being newly-minted officers, Starfleet has so far been reluctant to give them any sort of long-term missions, and after two back-to-back assignments they are expected to deliver the crystals to the starbase and report to the commander there. They are testing the Enterprise crew, and above all they are testing her command team.

 

 

_Pretty sure it's just me, actually._

 

 

Jim's voice suddenly in his head surprises Spock; but then, it should not, as they both know his Vulcan-taught shiels have little effect against a bond anchored in his human heritage. _**On the contrary, my previous tour on the Enterprise was almost entirely as science officer, not as first officer, and even then I served under a captain of long experience. I assure you they are looking at both of us.**_

 

 

_Maybe, but you have a better record than me. Anyway, I don't plan to give 'em anything to complain about, so it doesn't matter. You don't mind chatting like this then, huh?_

 

 

Not mind? Jim may have learned the Vulcan gesture equivalent to a human kiss, and Spock is certain that if he learned that, his surprisingly curious bondmate has learned other Vulcan ways, but he cannot fully comprehend what it is to be psychic. Betazoids and some Genoshans might have a better understanding of Spock's feelings on the subject, having both psychic ability and soulbonding patterns, but he does not have the words to explain to Jim. The near-silence in his head with the destruction of Vulcan aches, a mental wound that refuses to fully heal. The bond in itself eases some of that, and to use it so actively almost causes the pain to cease.

 

 

 _ **I do not mind at all. As I said, I have no objection to hearing your thoughts**_ , he tells Jim, and looks over to find Jim beaming at him, to the bewilderment of the rest of the bridge crew. Spock's lips twitch, but then he returns to his console before he risks a truly unseemly display of feeling. In the back of his mind, the bond radiates warmth that reminds him of how his mother hugged him when he was small, too young to dissuade such affection.

 

 

 

On Starbase Six, they are granted shore leave, which Spock rarely takes, but Jim insists. “Come on, it'll do us good to get out. Look how much improvement our relationship made after the last time!” Since the last time involved Spock having to resist throttling various Reylu and then pinning Jim to the floor so as to kiss him breathless, Spock is not certain whether he ought to agree or disagree with this assessment. But he agrees to take leave, and so finds himself wandering the local marketplace with Jim.

 

 

“I do not understand the point of buying paper books,” he says after Jim has spent twenty minutes diving in a box of old Terran paper books, flicking through them. Jim is wearing his glasses, the better to read the covers and summaries of each book, and the lenses have collected a fine film of dust. Jim peers at him over the black frames, with something that is either amusement or exasperation. Carefully probing the bond, Spock concludes it to be both.

 

 

“Yeah, you've mentioned thinking I should just put everything on my reader,” Jim says with a lopsided smile. He selects a book – Spock, looking at the title, would very much like to know what a 'hobbit' is and why the word is so distinctive as to be a fitting title, preceded only by the word 'the' – and takes it to the register. “Like I said, I just like 'em. The feel of them, and the smell. Does that make sense?”

 

 

Spock thinks of his lyre, which he only still has because it was in his apartment in San Francisco. He has tried several purely synthetic versions, but nothing feels quite right after a lyre made of the proper wood and string material, nor do they sound right. “Perhaps. I feel similarly about my lyre.”

 

 

“Lyre? Wait, you play an instrument? Why didn't I know that?”

 

 

“Because I had not seen a reason to tell you,” Spock says blandly. “But yes. Our arts are one of few respectable ways in which a Vulcan can express his or her feelings that does not risk our control.”

 

 

“I thought the idea was not to have feelings?”

 

 

“It is. However, Vulcans feel more deeply than humans – this is why we must control them in ways you do not need to, there is less risk when you lose control – and while logic should always be effective, sometimes having proper alternatives is in itself logical. Before Surak, the arts were the main way in which a Vulcan used emotions for things that caused no harm, and the tendency has yet to vanish.”

 

 

“So, short version, it's how you guys let it out when logic can't cut it.”

 

 

“That is not precisely how I would put it.”

 

 

“No, I heard how you put it, that was my Vulcan-to-human translation,” Jim says, grinning. Then his smile falters, just slightly, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Do you think – never mind, I guess it's probably one more secret part of your culture.”

 

 

“What is it, Jim?” Given the topic of conversation, Spock has a feeling he might know, but he finds that he wants Jim to ask him.

 

 

“Just wondered if I might be able to hear you play sometime,” Jim says in a casual tone that even Spock can tell is fake, as he studies a display of Andorian artwork. Spock brushes their fingers together and Jim turns to look at him.

 

 

“I would enjoy that, I think.”

 

 

<><><>

 

 

Jim wakes to the soft murmur of voices, his first instinct to burrow back into the covers. For someone as seemingly robotic as Spock tries to be, he turns his bed practically into a nest of covers. Half-awake, Jim doesn't find it overwarm as he sometimes does, and he'd really like to doze off again but then he starts making sense of what he's hearing Spock say, at which point there's no chance of sleep.

 

 

“I had of course planned to tell you, Father,” Spock is saying when Jim starts paying attention to the conversation. I spoke to T'Pring first to ensure clarity regarding the reason why our betrothal link shattered.

 

 

Jim can make out Ambassador Sarek's voice on the comm, though not the words. Even so, _fuck_ , telling the parents, not a conversation he'd wanted to deal with anytime soon. Or ever, actually, but he'd known better than to hope for _that_. Spock glances his way, sensing he's awake, and Jim manages half a smile, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach. Spock turns back to the comm.

 

 

“We have only just begun settling the parameters of our bond,” he says in response to whatever it was that Sarek had said. “But I will discuss the possibility of a leave on the colony with James.”

 

 

Whatever else they're saying, Jim can't follow because they switch to Vulcan, and then Spock ends the call. To Jim's surprise – sure, they have beta today but generally once Spock's up he stays up – Spock gets back into bed, pressing himself against Jim's back and slipping his arms around his waist. Jim shifts, turning so they face each other, just enough space between them that they can meet each other's eyes. “James?” he asks, because it's as good a place to start as any.

 

 

“Vulcans do not have the same habit of shortening names, although expressing your preferred form of address will settle that matter.” Spock's phrasing is even more formal than usual, maybe an effect of having just switched back from Vulcan, or from speaking to his dad. “My father would like us to visit, when it is possible.”

 

 

“Yeah, OK.” Jim isn't exactly thrilled by the prospect, but if nothing else it'd probably be a good idea to give Ambassador Sarek an impression of him that doesn't involve Jim being such an asshole that Spock ended up choking him out. What he does object to is –

 

 

“T'Pring spoke to my father before I had a chance to, but I did intend to tell him, after discussing it with you.” Spock's eyes search Jim's face. “It would not be difficult to make contact with the _Costayne_.”

 

 

And there it is. Fuck. He'd hoped the dream Spock had crashed into would mean he wouldn't ask about this, but apparently not. Damn it. “No, it wouldn't be hard, but we're not going to do that.” Anyone else would miss the flicker of hurt in Spock's eyes, but Jim doesn't. Spock starts to pull back, and Jim tangles their legs together so he can't. “Hey, I'm sorry, that came out wrong. It's got nothing to do with you, OK? I – look, Spock, you saw that dream.”

 

 

“I did. And I understand that you are not close, but is it not customary to inform a parent of bonding, regardless of closeness?”

 

 

Jim shrugs, swallowing hard. “It is. But it's not just – You heard her, Spock. You know that she blames me for my father dying, I know you figured it out even if you didn't say it.”

 

 

“You have never argued otherwise, even though there is no justification for her belief,” Spock agrees, that frown line showing up between his brows, the one that says the lack of logic in this situation is just too damn much for him. Or at least that's how Jim translates the expression. He brushes his thumb over that spot, trying to erase the line.

 

 

“There's no point. It won't convince her, and it's so fucking exhausting to talk to her. More than that... She hates me. It took me longer than it should have to admit it, probably, but she does. I mean, I'm pretty sure she has low-grade bond psychosis from feeling Dad die and their link snap, but hating me's tied in with it. And she wouldn't be happy about this, about us. She'd hate that I managed to find what she thinks I took from her, and even if she's changed enough in her opinion toward me not to think that, she also doesn't approve of people who are bonded serving on starships.”

 

 

“I am not precisely comfortable with the idea of being a secret, Jim.” Which is Spock-speak for he finds it either insulting or hurtful. Jim sighs.

 

 

“You're not. But I don't talk to her anyway; she's not in my life. I don't want to go out of my way to share something this important with someone who fucks me up every time I cross paths with her. My mother and my brother – I share genetics with them, that's all. I haven't even seen Sam since I was eleven. As far as I'm concerned, we told my family when we told Bones.”

 

 

“We were required to tell McCoy – though _he_ was not required to be so amused by the information.”

 

 

“He's still my brother in all the ways that count. I haven't seen Sam since I was eleven, after all. I mean it. They're not my family, we just share genetics.”

 

 

Spock ponders this for a moment. “Then I will consider the matter settled. Though you will forgive me for saying that I could have acquired a less infuriating brother by bonding,” he adds in a dry tone. Jim parses that, then laughs.

 

 

“Ah, that's just Bones' way. If he really didn't like you, you'd get distant professionalism. Though come to think of it you might prefer that, don't take that as encouragement to make him not like you.”

 

 

“I shall endeavor to resist the temptation.”

 

 

“You're a fucking smart-ass, you know that?” Jim says, laughing as he uses Spock's inattention to how they're tangled together to flip him onto his back, before leaning down to kiss him, slow and lazy as if they have all the time in the world.

 

 

<><><>

 

 

As Spock told Jim in the Imberline prison cell, he only dreams occasionally. But after their encounter with the Horta, he finds himself lost in them. Unlike many of his dreams, these are quite incoherent – flashes of pain and grief and fear, the Horta's anguish as these unknown beings start killing the children. Spock sees the silicon spheres that are Horta eggs, feels again the pain in the Horta's mind –

 

 

And then he is feeling the death of Vulcan, all those many deaths and most of his clan bonds snapping, he is on the transporter pad reaching out to empty air and his mother is gone. Metal sphere eggs and the faces of Vulcan children, human weapons and the desert sands crumbling to nothing, his memories and the Horta's twisting together. Spock knows he is dreaming and yet this does not seem to matter, he cannot escape the images and he cannot wake up.

 

 

Cool brightness invades his dream, seeming to wrap around him. Now he's on a beach – he recognizes San Francisco Bay but he is unfamiliar with this spot, a small piece of land jutting out into the water. “Oh, it actually worked,” Jim says from where he's seated next to him, and were Spock human, the sudden presence of his bondmate would make him jump. As it is, he only tilts his head, watching Jim as he turns to grin at Spock.

 

 

“Did you know there used to be this thing called dreamshare, where people used this device to create artificial dreams? They used it for everything from a kind of virtual reality experience to corporate espionage. Probably the military and political kind too.”

 

 

“I have come across references to it, yes. I fail to see why you bring this up.”

 

 

Jim shrugs. “Well, it doesn't exist anymore, but I came across it while reading up on lucid dreaming. I was thinking, if we can talk with our minds and cross into each other's dreams, then maybe we can pull each other into dreams, or create new ones that we share. Of course, I had to wait till I had a dream where I knew I was dreaming. Still, this is the first time it worked.”

 

 

That comment suggests that Jim has been trying to create such a shared dream for some time. If he had said his purpose was to deliberately invade Spock's dreams, he would find that unsettling; given what he had learned of Jim's history when he entered his dream by accident, the idea of Jim doing that to him intentionally without his consent is far too similar to forced mind reading. Spock will do such things as a matter of survival, but that's not the same thing.

 

 

“You are only attempting to create shared dreams, not to look at mine?” he clarifies, because he would prefer to know for sure. Jim looks almost hurt.

 

 

“Hey. I want to know everything about you, but I'd rather wait till you tell me than go poking around in your head. I don't want to bring back dreamshare like that or anything. I just thought... It'd be like a place for us, you know? Even in either of our quarters there's no _true_ privacy on a starship. But no one can get to us here.” There is something in Jim's eyes that Spock cannot quite interpret, but it makes him picture what Jim must have looked like as a small boy, hoping for affection that never came.

 

 

It reminds him of himself, how he'd craved the affection his mother gave, pushed it away _because_ he craved it and knew that was not the Vulcan way. “This idea is acceptable,” he finally says. And because Jim is right, they have true privacy here, he reaches out, wrapping his arm around Jim's shoulder and pulling him flush against him. Jim hums quietly, arm slipping around Spock's waist as he leans against him.

 

 

“I used to come out here when I was at the Academy, when I just needed quiet for a while. I've always liked the ocean, don't know why. I'd go for runs along the paths by the Bay, and come out here to relax. Bring my reader, since I didn't want my real books messed up by the water. Like how I'd hide up in trees as a kid. Seemed as good a place as any to bring us,” Jim explains.

 

 

“I had a similar place. My mother was gifted at cultivating gardens with desert flora, and they surrounded our house. There was a place quite difficult to see if you did not know the path was there, and I would go there to meditate or study. And, sometimes, simply to enjoy the quiet. When I was a child, I would go there at night to identify constellations.”

 

 

Jim laughs softly, shifting closer so he can slip an arm around Spock's waist, rest his head on Spock's shoulder. “I used to go up on the roof with this beat-up old telescope to do the same thing.”

 

 

Suddenly, while their location remains the same, the sunlight vanishes, leaving them under the stars and the Terran moon. But the constellations, Spock realizes when he looks up, are not Terran – or at least, not entirely so. It is as though someone took the Terran sky and the Vulcan sky and blended them together, so that the constellations lead into each other, interconnecting above their heads. “Wow,” Jim murmurs, and Spock can only agree with the reaction, though he never would have verbalized it.

 

 

“So, this Nibiru mission coming up,” Jim says after a moment. “We're agreed, we've gotta do something about that volcano, not just take what we need and let the locals get killed?”

 

 

“It is not, strictly speaking, permitted.”

 

 

“Yeah, but as long as they never know anything happened, it's not exactly a violation of anything either. Even the Prime Directive only counts if the meddling affects them, so if they're not aware of it, it won't affect them in any way they'll ever know about.”

 

 

Technically, it would still be frowned upon, but Jim is right. And Spock thinks of the Horta eggs again, of Vulcan crumbling around him. He cannot let another society be devastated as his own has been – more so, even, as the entirety of the Nibiru are, so far as they know, alone on the planet and in the direct path of the volcano, and thus an entire race will be wiped out if it is not stopped.

 

 

“We have two weeks until we arrive. It should be time enough to form a tentative plan, and we can refine it with information gained on our arrival,” he says, and senses rather than sees Jim's smile. In truth, Spock does not see how they could make any other choice. It ought to be straightforward enough, barring any unforeseen complications.

 

 

<><><>

 

 

Jim is hoping that Spock's unbent a bit by the time he cuts between their shared bathroom to go into his bondmate's quarters, but no chance of that, as it turns out. In fact, he's gone from lecturing Jim on why he should have been left to die to –

 

 

No. He isn't, is he? Jim stares at the report over Spock's shoulder for a long moment before blurting out, “You're seriously reporting me?” Somehow, he isn't surprised when Spock ignores him at first, calmly finishing and submitting his report before standing. He turns to face Jim, all cold Vulcan composure, and it only kicks Jim's fury up higher.

 

 

“You violated the Prime Directive. It is expected of us both to report on such events. You were planning to do otherwise?”

 

 

Actually, Jim hadn't decided yet. He'd been tempted to hide it, but only to avoid a hassle; he's not ashamed of any of his choices, except possibly hiding in the ocean given that he's sure Scotty will be grumbling for days about the hull. Of course, now he'll have to report the whole damn mess and defend his actions. Wonderful. “Are you seriously angry that I didn't let you die? 'Cause, you know, if you're suicidal and didn't mention that, it's one fucking hell of an omission!”

 

 

“I do not wish to die,” Spock counters evenly. “But the damage you may have caused the Nibiru is far more costly than the loss of any individual life.”

 

 

“OK, you know what? They don't know what they saw. Earth had mythic UFOs, hell, some of 'em were probably actual spacecraft – long before we managed any decent space travel, long before we even had the word alien. Some of our old myths came out of misinterpreting alien sightings. It didn't do us any harm. We saved the planet, you're alive to be pissy as hell about _being_ alive, I call that a win – or I _would_ if you'd get that stick out of your ass!”

 

 

“You cannot rationalize away the fact that you severely violated – ”

 

 

“Do you really think I am ever just going to let one of my people – to let you die?”

 

 

“If your fear of falling prey to the same bond psychosis as your mother is clouding your judgment – ”

 

 

Spock is still talking, but Jim can't hear him over the roaring in his ears. He's never been so angry he feels like his blood's turned to ice, anger is usually a hot thing for him, but that's how he feels now. A rage colder than Delta Vega. He's crossed the distance between them before he knows it, and he must surprise Spock too because Jim knows he'd never manage to pin him against the wall otherwise.

 

 

“You listen to me right now. This is not about my family history or whatever stupid logical conclusion you've cooked up in that computer brain of yours. It's about the fact that I couldn't let you die when I knew a way to save you. I couldn't with anyone on my ship, but with you? I don't – Fuck, maybe Bones was right, maybe you wouldn't even hesitate to let me die if our places had been switched. But from my side, if you died, I... It wouldn't take the bond psychosis to break me, you _fucking idiot_. Are you _blind_? Don't you know how I feel about – ” The low, cold voice Jim hardly knows as his own falters, and when he speaks again his voice is harsh and raw. “If you didn't see that, if you don't know, then I have nothing else to say to you, Commander.”

 

 

Jim lets him go, turns and walks away without another word, without a backward glance. Spock's silence follows him out. But that's not really surprising, and maybe it's even appropriate. Because really, if Spock didn't know why Jim did what he did, how he feels irrespective of their bond, then what else is there to say?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, STID next chapter. Also, you read it right if you realized Jim won't be lying to cover up what he did in this version of events.


	5. The Sharp Knife of a Short Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I did warn you STID was next...

The only word for it is a cold war. They don't speak except for official discussions during their shifts. Jim misses him so much it genuinely hurts, but he can't bend, not on this. It's not like he went into this unaware that Vulcans logic their feelings away, but the trouble is, he knows they love. He knows because he's felt it, because until Spock saved him from it memories that included _so much_ love were beginning to take over his mind.

 

 

 

In another world, a different Jim Kirk had brown eyes and he loved a different Spock who returned the feeling completely.

 

 

 

In this one...

 

 

 

In this one, a Jim Kirk with blue eyes is desperately in love with his soulmate, who apparently...

 

 

 

He thinks of Spock pressing in close to him, craving contact as much as Jim does, of how he'd spoken of taking Jim to visit his father. Spock cares, he has to, but given how completely he misread Jim's motives, can he possibly care _as much_? It's his own fault, Jim supposes; this kind of thing tends to happen and so it has to be something about him. The only one who returns his affection as steadily as Jim feels it is Bones – and it was Sam, once, but thinking about Sam is worse than thinking about anyone except Spock, so he tries not to think about his brother since he can't keep from thinking about his XO.

 

 

Jim curls in his bed that isn't really that big and feels like there's far too much space, feels like he can't get warm no matter what he does.

 

 

 

Things are no better once they get to Earth. Actually, they're worse, because it turns out that Pike is furious with them. Jim had pretty much expected it, but the sheer fury in Pike's eyes turns his stomach.

 

 

 

“You are this close to losing your command,” he says, glaring at Jim. “Only the fact that the two of you are bonded and that you confessed almost immediately in your logs kept that from happening. Or so I assume, because I was kept out of the Admiralty meeting deciding your fate.” He shakes his head. “There'll be an inquiry, and if you can't get yourself cleared, you will lose your ship, and you should.”

 

 

 

“What?! Sir, with all due respect -”

 

 

 

“You don't understand respect! That's your problem, Kirk. Your behavior shows that you do not respect the chair, which means you don't deserve it. Do you get that? You disobeyed the most central tenet of Starfleet, and it should never have been necessary. No one should have been in that volcano to begin with.”

 

 

 

“Admiral, I too believed preventing the eruption to be the best course of action.” Spock cuts in, with that infuriating calmness Jim knows so well, the kind that means Spock is actually rather annoyed. Probably at the implication that he was blindly following Jim's reckless orders or something.

 

 

 

“Are you giving me an attitude, Spock?”

 

 

 

“I am expressing several attitudes at once, sir.”

 

 

 

For a moment, Pike just stares at them both, looking like he might explode with rage. “Dismissed. Both of you. Your inquiry time is still to be decided.”

 

 

 

For the length of the hallway they walk together, and then Jim deliberately turns left as Spock begins to go right. He isn't ready to talk, not yet. He isn't even sure what he'd say if he was. If he'd yell at Spock or grab him and babble about how much he missed him. And none of that is any help at all, is it?

 

 

 

He goes to a bar that night, and briefly if seriously considers the offer of a night with two Caitian girlfriends who want a little extra spice for the night. This time a year ago, Jim would have been all over the idea; it wouldn't be his first go-round as an established couple's pretty toy for a night or two, and it can be fun under the right circumstances. But...

 

 

He's furious with Spock, and if his bondmate was present Jim would probably flirt a little more, just to piss him off. But he doesn't have any real interest, so he turns them down, settles his tab, and leaves the bar. He means to head back to his quarters, but then his comm beeps. He's being summoned to a conference at the Daystrom Building, disciplinary action tabled for now.

 

 

 

Second time his ass is saved by an emergency. Hopefully not so bad this time.

 

 

 

Most of Jim's attention is focused on the oddly increased security as he heads for the conference room, but a twitch at the back of his mind makes him glance to his right, where Spock is striding toward him. Jim presses his lips together and says nothing, not even when Spock falls into step beside him. “Captain.”

 

 

 

“Hey.”

 

 

 

The silence continues after that, and either that or the block on their link that Jim keeps firmly up alerts Spock to the fact that Jim is still pissed off. “I sense that you remain displeased.”

 

 

 

“And you're never wrong, are you Spock?”

 

 

 

“Jim, I -”

 

 

 

“Just don't, OK? I can't -”

 

 

 

“I did not expect your anger over the report to linger, especially not now that any penalty is being waived.”

 

 

 

“Delayed, not waived, and you honestly think that's the problem? Do you not remember what you said after, when you-” Jim rakes a hand through his hair. “I mean it, Spock. Please. Just, don't.”

 

 

 

There are a few brief moments in the meeting where Jim almost feels normal, when he starts talking through his questions about what Harrison's real plan is, why he would be on the spot for an attack he'd gone to careful lengths to perpetrate through a blackmailed intermediary. When Spock jumps in to join him and they reach that synergy that Jim has always considered the first sign of what they are to each other.

 

 

And then they're proven right in the worst possible way as all hell breaks loose. The next minutes are a blur as they're happening and whenever Jim thinks back on them later. Grabbing the phaser rifle, shooting at Harrison, seeing that face close up, the inscrutable coldness in his expression.

 

 

Pike.

 

 

Pike, dead.

 

 

Jim doesn't remember his father. He's spent his life resenting his father's memory even as he longed for the presence of a man he never knew. But he's never grieved, never could. But now, now he thinks he might understand, a little, what Sam felt, Sam who could and did remember their father, however dimly.

 

 

 

Afterwards, he doesn't even object when Spock follows him back to his quarters. When they end up curling together as if they'd never fought, though the words still loom between them.

 

 

 

<><><>

 

 

 

Jim is trying to make him jealous. Spock is well aware of this, even if it unsettles him to realize his mate is still angry with him. He tells himself it is not jealousy or irritation that makes him so unwilling to accept Carol Wallace – it is that she seems to assume she will be taking his position as chief science officer. It is that she is here at the behest of Admiral Marcus, a weapons specialist for a mission they should not be undertaking.

 

 

 

It is that she is unnecessary, and -

 

 

 

And, very well. Jim is flirting with her, and she is not rejecting it, and Spock dislikes this intensely. But no one needs to know that. Knowing Jim does it to annoy him only makes it worse.

 

 

Perhaps he is jealous. Or hurt. Spock does not like to admit to either emotion, or any at all, but having a soulmate as humans do has forced him to face the fact that he is half human, to consider that perhaps _control_ of emotion is, in his case, more useful than attempting to _erase_ it entirely. So he will admit, if only to himself, that he is jealous and hurt that his mate would give even superficial attention to someone else in such a way.

 

 

 

_I'm not going to take ethics lessons from a robot!_

 

 

_If you didn't see that, if you don't know, then I have nothing else to say to you, Commander._

 

 

Spock thinks of the raw pain in Jim's voice when he'd said that, how it spilled over their link before Jim put his walls up. He thinks of the bitter edge to his bondmate's responses now when he tried to talk him out of killing Harrison. He feels out of his depth and annoyed with himself, because _now is not the time_ for this. Now is the time to focus on their orders and trying to make Jim see reason. But can he do so without fixing what has gone wrong between them? But there is no opportunity for such private conversations.

 

 

Finally, Spock settles on a compromise. In response to Jim's blocks, he had put his own shields back up. He lets them drop all at once, just as they exit the shuttle. Jim does not turn to look at him, nor does he relax his own guard, but Spock sees him falter, briefly, and knows his gesture has been noticed. It will do for the moment.

 

 

He settles into his seat at the science console, though not before coming upon Jim and Nyota in the turbolift, both of them quiet in an uncomfortable way as though his presence had interrupted some conversation. Spock does not know what a question about his ears 'burning' is supposed to mean, but he puts it from his mind, instead pulling up the biography of one Carol Wallace. It is illogical, even foolish, to allow his emotions to lead to suspicion, but for once Spock indulges. It cannot cause any harm, and in truth he does find Lieutenant Wallace's presence, ordered by Admiral Marcus, one more disquieting feature in this mission they should not be on. So he researches her.

 

 

 

Or tries to. He finds that after her surface credentials, there is in fact no record of Carol Wallace in Starfleet. There are no orders from Marcus. Spock's eyes narrow, and he alters the search to just the first name of Carol, combined with the Lieutenant's photo and her credentials. This does yield a single result, a Lieutenant who is indeed a weapons specialist, but her name is –

 

 

 

His reading is interrupted as Jim calls for a shipwide channel. “Attention, crew of the _Enterprise_. As most of you know, Christopher Pike, former captain of this ship and our friend, is dead.” Jim's shields waver and Spock can feel his grief at having to speak those words. “The man who killed him has fled our system and is hiding on the Klingon homeworld – somewhere he believes we are unwilling to go. We are on our way there now. Per Admiral Marcus, it is essential that our presence go undetected. Tensions between the Federation and the Klingon Empire have been high. Any direct provocation could lead to an all-out war.”

 

 

 

Jim pauses, just when Spock expects him to explain about the torpedoes. That's when Jim turns in his seat, locking eyes with Spock and just staring for one long moment. His face is unreadable yet somehow soft, and then –

 

 

 

His shields vanish, the bond lighting up properly between them once more. “I will personally lead a landing party to an abandoned city on the surface of Kronos, where we will capture the fugitive John Harrison and return him to Earth so he can face judgment for his actions. All right. Let's go get this son of a bitch. Kirk out.”

 

 

 

 _ **Happy now? You were right, but I still can't let this guy go**_ , Jim projects over their reawakened link.

 

 

 

 _ **And we will not allow it**_ , Spock replies in the same fashion as he gets to his feet, crossing over to stand at Jim's side. There is more affection in his face when he looks down at his mate than he intends, but the relief at having Jim properly in his mind again is too great to suppress. “Captain, I believe you have made the right decision. If I can be of assistance, I would be happy to accompany you on the away team.”

 

 

 

“You? Happy?” And if there's still a bitter, exasperated edge to the comment, Spock senses a fondness as well, responding to his own.

 

 

 

“I was simply attempting to use your vernacular to convey an idea.”

 

 

 

 _ **Lying little space elf,**_ Jim thinks at him even as he smiles and says “Thank you, Mr. Spock.”

 

 

 

 _ **I am not an elf, and Vulcans do not lie.**_ But the return to normal – or nearly so, and the rest will come in time – is more comforting than Spock will admit. Now, he must take the brief opportunity he has before they reach Kronos to confront Lieutenant Wallace, whose true name is, in fact, Carol Marcus.

 

 

 

<><><>

 

 

 

“Mr. Spock, you have the conn.”

 

 

 

Here's the thing. Jim knows that what he has planned is reckless, possibly to the point of stupidity. But he can't see any other option. Scotty turning out to be on Marcus' ship is a stroke of luck he can't afford to waste – he might have finally realized that Pike was right about him, he's not ready for the chair, but he is good at knowing how, in the moment, to use circumstances. Having an inside man is the best he's going to have, and more than that, he has two of them.

 

 

 

There's something about Khan that bothers him, beyond his fury over Pike's death. A niggling foreboding that began with Khan's display of super-strength, but intensified exponentially when he first heard 'John Harrison' state his true name. Jim can't explain it, knows only that the name makes him think of hands pressed to glass and something terrible. And yet he's still going to use Khan's knowledge of the _Vengeance_ , still going to use his taste for revenge to save the crew.

 

 

 

They'll use each other, and Jim will do his best to backstab before he's the one to get the proverbial knife in the back. It's the best he's got, and he's going for it.

 

 

 

But somehow he isn't surprised when Spock follows him off the bridge. “Captain, I strongly object.”

 

 

 

“To what? I haven't said anything yet.”

 

 

 

“Since we cannot take the ship from the outside, the only way we can take it is from within,” Spock says, and just like in the conference room back on Earth it's clear he really has already figured out where Jim's mind is headed. Pity he does this to argue as much as he does to work together. “And as a large boarding party would be detected, it is optimal for you to take as few crew members as possible. You will meet resistance, requiring personnel with advanced combat abilities and innate knowledge of that ship. This indicates that you plan to align with Khan, the very man we were sent here to destroy.

 

 

 

 _Which you objected to, if you remember, Spock_ , Jim thinks but does not project over their link. “I'm not aligning with Khan,” he tries to explain. “I'm using him. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.'”

 

 

 

“An Arabic proverb attributed to a prince who was betrayed and decapitated by his own subjects.” And of course Spock would know that. Any other time, Jim would laugh and cuff him lightly upside the head, teasing him for knowing random tidbits like that but judging Jim for his antique books. But not right now.

 

 

 

“Still, it's a hell of a quote,” he says, and speeds up, trying to end the conversation without having to actually say anything.

 

 

 

“I will go with you, Captain.”

 

 

 

“No, I need you on the bridge.” _If I don't come back, this ship will need you, and I almost got you killed on Kronos, don't make me do that twice._ Again, the message stays only within Jim's own head. He isn't expecting the hand on his shoulder.

 

 

 

“I cannot allow you to do this.” There's the faintest tremble to Spock's voice and that's what truly makes Jim turn, that sound and the roiling emotions on Spock's end of their link. Spock continues, “It is my function aboard this ship to advise you on making the wisest decisions possible, something I firmly believe you are incapable of doing in this moment.” By the end of it, Spock's as close to yelling as he ever gets.

 

 

 

“You're right!” Jim snaps, his own temper flaring – anger and guilt and desperation all tangled up together. “What I'm about to do, it doesn't make any sense, it's not logical, it is a gut feeling. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. I only know what I can do.” And the hardest part, the truest part of all this is - “The _Enterprise_ and her crew need someone in that chair that knows what he's doing. And it's not me. It's you, Spock.”

 

 

 

He takes advantage of Spock's surprise at the declaration to turn and walk away, steps only faltering at the voice echoing through his mind. _**Jim. I know. I do know why, and I am sorry.**_

 

 

 

_**I'm coming back, Spock. We'll work ourselves out once we're out of this.** _

 

 

 

For all that he means what he says, Jim knows he's probably lying.

 

 

 

<><><>

 

 

“It's a miracle!”

 

 

 

“There are no such things,” Spock says, the comment automatic and almost thoughtless, his focus centered on the sudden pounding in his head, the inexplicable shortness of his breath. Something is not right, and in the absence of other options –

 

 

 

“Engineering to Bridge.”

 

 

 

Mr. Scott has not been officially reinstated, but Spock knows it to be only a matter of time. “Mr. Scott, it would – ”

 

 

 

“Never mind that, sir. You'd better get down here. Better hurry.”

 

 

 

And he knows. He does not even need the waver and collapse of the shields on Jim's side of the bond, but the sudden wave of exhausted pain confirms what Spock does not wish to know.

 

 

 

 _ **I'm sorry**_ **,** Jim's voice whispers through Spock's mind, thready and faint.

 

 

 

 _ **Do not say it**_ **,** Spock thinks back, even as he races through the corridors, barely aware of cre members ducking out of his way.

 

 

 

_**You're the one who said –** _

 

 

 

_**I will not hear this.** _

 

 

 

He comes to a stop outside the warp core, finding Scott at the console running a program Spock cares nothing for. All that matters is Jim on the wrong side of the glass, slumped on the floor. Spock thinks of Jim falling asleep next to him the night of Admiral Pike's death, the warm weight of him resting against Spock's side. He thinks of waking up in his own quarters or Jim's, a tangle of limbs and that soft blanket Jim likes to use. In dreams they always sit close together, as if they cannot get enough of being close. And if this is their last – if it –

 

 

 

“Open it,” he orders Scott. He needs to hold Jim, needs him close one last time. But Scott is shaking his head.

 

 

 

“The decontamination process is not complete. We'd flood the whole compartment at the very least. The door's locked, sir.”

 

 

 

And Jim won't forgive Spock risking everyone he just saved, even if Spock were willing to. Even now, even desperate to break the glass and reach Jim, Spock will not do that. So he crouches by the door, hands pressed to the glass. Slowly Jim reaches up to close the last hatch, his head turning so cloudy blue eyes can focus on Spock. Spock feels as though someone has stabbed him and twisted the knife, seeing Jim's improbable eyes so dimmed.

 

 

 

“How's our ship?” Jim whispers, the words carried to Spock by the communcations array.

 

 

 

“Out of danger. You saved the crew.” Jim will want to know that, will want to know everyone is safe – except for him.

 

 

“You used what he wanted against him. That's a nice move.” Jim almost smiles, as if it were just another chess game and he were praising

 

 

 

“It is what you would have done.” Spock has, after all, many reasons to know Jim's brand of strategy.

 

 

 

“And this... this is what you would've done. It's only logical.” _**I – I'm sorry, Spock. For leaving you like this.**_ The unspoken part of Jim's words echo painfully in Spock's mind.

 

 

 

“No. Do not apologize. We – there must – ” There is nothing and Spock knows it, but for once in his life he wishes to deny facts, deny logic, if it would mean that this is not happening.

 

 

 

This cannot be happening.

 

 

 

“It's OK, Spock. Just... I need you to know why I – why I couldn't let you die. You said- but-”

 

 

 

“I know why.” And Spock does, he'd told him so earlier, though he cannot say it now. He thinks the words will choke him if he tries. “Jim...”

 

 

 

“I'm scared, Spock. Help me not be? How do you choose not to feel?”

 

 

 

Spock cannot remember not knowing how to suppress emotion, only being unsuccessful. “I do not know. Right now I am failing.” The cord between them flickers, its light dimming with every breath Jim struggles to take. Spock knows this helplessness; it is the same as he had felt when Vulcan crumbled around him and his mother slipped away, a terrible uselessness that leaves him shaking.

 

 

 

“Take care of our ship, Spock.”

 

 

 

_**T'hy'la –** _

 

 

 

“I l – ” Spock knows what Jim meant to say, as he presses his hand to the other side of the glass – without it, they would be kissing in the Vulcan way. It is not enough, not nearly enough. But it is what they have, as Jim's words catch in his throat, as his eyes go blank and empty.

 

 

 

Jim's hand falls away and their bond shatters, jagged burning pieces destroying Spock from within.

 

 

 

_No. No._

 

 

 

He is falling again, but this time he is falling alone, and it will never end. He knows that he screams, but he is too lost in the abyss to know that he screams the name echoing in his mind, a target for his broken fury.

 

 

 

Rage and vengeance are all he has left, his guiding star snuffed out as he tumbles into the black hole left behind.

 


	6. On A Prayer, In A Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Khan, all there is to do is wait.

He sleeps in Jim's small apartment. Spock would probably be able to stop himself if Jim lived in officers' quarters rather than a small off-campus loft, if he might be seen giving in to such weakness by staying here instead of his own serviceable quarters. (Although full humans, who understand bonding instincts, are unlikely to judge him harshly as full Vulcans would.) The part of him that is most Vulcan would prefer to be stronger, and yet...

 

 

 

When he falls asleep, he dreams of the moment their link shattered in blazing fragments, burning him alive from within, he dreams of empty staring eyes. To wake wrapped in Jim's green blanket allows him to settle, and sleep again without the dreams returning. It is ridiculous, but being in Jim's space seems to make the dim, flickering bond thread glow more strongly. As McCoy is insisting that Jim be kept in isolation for now, Spock finds he needs the reassurance.

 

 

 

Five days after McCoy revived Jim and induced a coma, he lifts the isolation. For Spock, the timing is fortunate; he has just finished a series of meetings to explain the recent events, although no one is aware that Jim actually died. What Spock says is that Jim suffered radiation poisoning but that Dr. McCoy was able to treat it. Vulcans do not lie outright; this does not prevent a choice of words intended to be misleading. None of them want to risk the truth becoming known.

 

 

 

But the meetings are finished, at least for the time being, and Spock is free to do as he wants. What he wants is to see Jim, and so he settles in the chair by his bondmate's bed, one hand curled around one of Jim's. The coma is too deep for Jim even to dream, but with both touch-telepathy and the link they share, Spock can feel his presence clearly. It's calming enough that Spock is able, finally, to meditate. He needs it quite desperately, his mind more disordered than it's been since the loss of his mother and his planet.

 

 

Still, by the third day of no discernible change, Spock begins to grow restless. He brought a PADD with the intent of working, and yet he cannot focus. He finds himself watching Jim intently for the slightest sign of recovery. But there is nothing, and it is far worse than the last time Jim was so still. Then, Spock was able to pull him back with a mind meld. Now...

 

 

He does not consciously decide to do it, but the next thing Spock knows, his fingers are pressed to Jim's meld points. “My mind to your mind,” Spock murmurs, closing his eyes. The darkness in Jim's mind is no surprise, but there is something. A faint spark the same blue as Jim's eyes, the same blue as Nero's lightning – Jim told him once that he thinks his eyes are blue because of that lightning. That spark hovers before Spock, and he reaches for it as if shielding a tiny flame from wind.

 

 

_I'm sorry_ , Jim had said before he died. He'd apologized for leaving Spock in such a way. He pushes the memory aside – he still does not wish to face it. _**If you are sorry, then do not leave me. Wake up. Come back to me.**_

 

 

The spark flares brighter and Spock lets the meld go. Jim is still unconscious, of course, but even in the next hours he shows improvement. “What'd you do?” McCoy asks, trying for his usual irascible tones but even Spock easily picks up on his relief. It's no surprise, given how close the doctor is to Jim.

 

 

“You can talk to him, you know. Read out your reports, whatever. Coma patients can hear, sometimes; there's a school of thought that says it helps.”

 

 

“You believe it will encourage him to wake?”

 

 

“Can't hurt. Jim hates the quiet; always had his earpieces playing music when we were roommates. And it'll help _me_ when you're not doing a damned statue impression.”

 

 

Spock does not respond, but that night, alone again in Jim's loft, his gaze falls on Jim's “library box”, which he'd brought with him off their damaged ship. Spock understands the appeal of reading, though he's never quite shared Jim's taste for fiction, and he does not think he will ever really understand why Jim likes antique paper books so much more than downloads on a PADD, though he knows it is mostly sentimental value. He has never gone into the box before, but he does now.

 

 

Three of the books are poetry, and Spock finds himself wishing he'd known sooner; he enjoys poetry, actually, finds it a productive and beautiful way to channel emotion, for any race. He himself has a collection of pre-Surak Vulcan poetry on his personal PADD. Still, he doesn't think he wants to be caught with a volume of poetry if McCoy looks at the book cover. The mockery would be tiresome.

 

 

He does not read aloud, when he brings one of Jim's books along to Medical the next day. It strikes him as entirely too maudlin, but he also recalls McCoy's words. If Jim were awake, what would Spock do? Well, he wouldn't be reading, as he has entirely too much to say. But he will not speak of important things until Jim wakes up; there would be no point. Still... It remains far too quiet, somehow, and the book is not quite distracting enough. “I do not understand why these characters are so eager to break into song. You must enjoy it though, as you have read it often.” The book is somewhat worn, and there are psychic traces of Jim on it, suggesting it is a favorite. “Although I can sympathize with this Company's desire to reclaim a home. Less so with the interest in treasure.”

 

 

Spock continues to make such observations from time to time, knowing it to be illogical but unable to stop. It fills the unpleasant silence, and it seems like something that Jim would find amusing. If Dr. McCoy is right and Jim can hear what happens around him, that may indeed be beneficial.

 

 

<><><>

 

 

This isn't his dream. Jim's not sure how he knows that, but then again he's also not sure how he's dreaming anything at all. Isn't he dead? He remembers dying, a foggy pained memory with only two points of clarity: the ship was safe, and Spock. Spock above all, knowing what he was doing to him by dying, desperately glad even so to see him one last time.

 

 

If he's dead, how can he be in anyone's dream?

 

 

He's in his uniform and the ship looks like the Enterprise – but entirely empty. Jim tries the bridge, then sickbay, then his favorite observation deck. Nobody, anywhere. It's downright creepy. Jim's never had a dream like this, and none of the dreams he's found Spock in were like this either. But it has to be Spock's dream, because it isn't his.

 

 

It's impulse that has him walking through engineering, but given everything, Jim isn't really surprised to find Spock outside the warp core, sitting cross-legged by the door. Jim drops down next to him. “This is kinda morbid, Spock.” Spock's head turns sharply and then Jim's being yanked close, held almost too tightly with Spock's face hidden in his hair. He's saying something, but even in a dream – even in _Spock's_ dream – Jim doesn't speak Vulcan. There's a word he can pick out, one he knows from those last moments, from flickers of a life he never led. But he still doesn't know what it means, only what it sounds like.

 

 

“Spock, I...” I'm sorry. He said that before.

 

 

“Stop, Jim. I do not need to hear it.”

 

 

“I'm not... This might be the last time I can talk to you, Spock.” Maybe it's the bond giving him one last chance, that would explain it.

 

 

“It will not be,” Spock says, drawing back enough to look Jim in the eye. “You are not dead. You are in a coma, but all readings indicate that you will wake up. I believe your presence in my dream to be a positive sign.”

 

 

This doesn't make any sense, but Spock wouldn't lie to him, so Jim believes it. Spock also doesn't seem inclined to let him go, so Jim just shifts a little to a more comfortable position. He doesn't really want to be let go. He's not crazy about the surroundings, though, so he tries the dream switch trick – the world flickers and they're on Jim's favorite observation deck. Spock doesn't seem to notice.

 

 

“You cannot leave me again. I will not say this outside of our dreams – there are some things I may never be able to say outside of this shared place. But I would not survive losing you again, Jim.” Spock's voice is low and unsteady in a way Jim's never heard it. “T'hy'la...”

 

They both know he can't promise that, neither of them can unless they leave active duty. That wouldn't suit either of them at this stage of their lives. And there's that word again, the one Jim can't understand but somehow almost recognizes anyway. He'll ask when he wakes up, he decides. “I won't leave again,” he says, meaning that he'll fight not to with all that he's got. “And I'm coming back.” Now that he has some level of awareness, maybe forcing himself to wake will get easier.

 

 

“Of that I am certain,” Spock says, his voice closer to his usual steadiness.

 

 

The dream fades slowly and Jim drifts in grey fog for God knows how long, alone except for whispered voices, flickers of memory. But then the fog recedes and he feels solid again – solid and aching. Memories jumble in his head, with the last clear flash Pike saying, “Dare you to do better – ”

 

 

And his eyes open.

 

 

<><><>

 

 

It is three days before they have a chance to speak properly, once Jim regains consciousness. First of all, while Jim is coherent when awake, for the first two days he can only manage to _stay_ awake for fifteen minutes at most. On the third day, various crew members stop by, most of them only briefly with well wishes. Mr. Scott, however, launches into a rant that slides from Standard to what Spock believes is Scots approximately halfway through the lecture. Truthfully, he cannot blame their Chief Engineer for his anger.

 

 

 

Spock remains through it all, on the sidelines, unwilling to leave or engage in “small talk”.

 

 

 

Finally, they are left alone, and Jim gives Spock a tired smile. “Why're you still holding up the wall over there?”

 

 

“I am doing no such thing,” Spock says. Jim rolls his eyes but a wave of fondness comes through their bond.

 

 

“It's a figure of speech, Spock, and I'm pretty sure you knew that. C'mere.”

 

 

As he sees no reason to deny what either of them want, Spock does as Jim asks, settling once more in the chair by the bed. He remembers holding Jim close in their shared dream, and grips Jim's hand tightly. He would rather hold him again, but such things are for private places, and for a Vulcan, holding hands is its own source of comfort beyond what it is for humans.

 

 

“I came back,” Jim says after a moment of quiet. He's searching Spock's face as if looking for something. What it is Spock does not know; he is focused on the impossible blue of Jim's eyes, hoping that the sight of them bright and focused again will chase away the memory of them glazed over and empty. But in truth he thinks he may never be rid of that image.

 

 

“Hey, Spock. Everything is going to be fine.”

 

 

Spock brings himself back to the present moment. “You should not be finding it necessary to comfort me.”

 

 

“No? I had it easy. I didn't have to keep going.”

 

 

“Being _dead_ is not easy!”

 

 

“From some perspectives it kind of is,” Jim counters, voice oddly gentle. He runs his thumb over Spock's knuckles. “You get it now?” he asks quietly, and Spock knows immediately what he's referring to. Their argument after Nibiru, Jim's voice going cold, then raw in his anger.

 

 

“I understood when I realized I would not cross to the _Vengeance_ with you,” Spock admits quietly, because it's true. Jim gives him a surprised look that slowly shifts into something much more fond.

 

 

“Had to leave our ship in good hands, but I gotta admit, infiltration goes better with you. Just about everything does.”

 

 

“Then it would be logical for us not to be parted.” Spock does not exactly intend to allude to the words of Vulcan wedding vows, but it is not entirely accidental, either. (He and Jim must one day discuss all aspects of Vulcan mates, he knows. But not just yet.)

 

 

“Can't argue that one,” Jim says, lifting their joined hands to press a kiss to the back of Spock's hand. “Don't want to anyway. I never wanted to leave you, and I'll do everything I can to make sure we both stick around a good long while.”

 

“We will both do that,” Spock says, loosening his grip to stroke his fingers over Jim's in a Vulcan kiss.

 

 

“Then I was right. Everything's gonna be just fine.”

 


End file.
